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An Illustrated Monthly 

Vol XLVI. 

Xon&on : 




C^f\r%Ci\i^ Original from 



. i ' < • PAGE. 

ADVENTURE.OF THE DYING DETECTIVE, THE. A New Sherlock Holmes Story A. Conan Doyle. 605 

Illustrations by Wal Paget. 

ALABASTER JAR, THE Martin Swayne. 212 

Illustrations by Graham Simmons. 

ANIMAL STUDIES FROM "LIFE" Leonard Larkin. 73 


Illustrations from Old Prints. 


BACK TO BACK ..* .. W.W.Jacobs. 97 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 
BAD LOT, A Mary Tennyson. 146 

Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 


Illustrations by John Cameron. 

u BAND PLAYED, THEN THE." A Symposium of Amusing Musical Incidents, contributed 

by Bandmasters and others 296 

Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 

BATTLE ON THE SANDS, THE . . A.S.M. Hutchinson. 330 

Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 


IV. — Vanity and Some Sables .. .. 89 

V.— A Service of Love .. . . 182 

VI.— At Arms With Morpheus 411 

VII.— Witches' Loaves 737 

Illustrations by A. K. Macdonald and Frank GUlett, R.I. 

BLACK HOUR, THE Austin Philips and Gordon Stair. 674 

Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Chas. Grave, 

"BRIDE OF DANGER, THE." An Interview with Mile. Marie Marvingt 187 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


BULW INKLE AND CO. .. Horace A. Vachell. 501 

Illustrations by S. Spurrier. 

CHILDREN I HAVE MET, AMUSING Written and Illustrated by Hilda Cowham. 58 

CHRISTMAS EVE AT HOLLIBURY HALL, A Record of Some Easy Puzzles . . Henry E. Dudeney. 796 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 

COROT LANDSCAPE, THE Martin Swayne. 5*6 

Illustrations by Frank GUlett, R.I. 

CURIOSITIES 119,241,361,481,601,801 

Illustrations from Photographs. 
DANCING, THE FINE ART OF . . . . Some Views and Experiences told by Anna Pavlova. 446 

Illustrations from Photographs. . 

DOLL'S PALACE, A. The Most Famous Doll's House in the World. The Work of Celebrated 

Artists Mrs. Herbert Vivian. 731 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

DWARF NOSEY, THE. A Fairy Tale, Retold from the German by W.J.LKiehl. 473 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 

EULALIA OF SPAIN, H.R.H. THE INFANTA. Memoirs of a Princess of the Blood Royal . . 524,664 

Illustrations from Drawings by W. E. Webster, and from Photographs. 

FAIRIES' PRISONER, THE. A Story for Children A. C. Rose. 353 

Illustrations by Charles Robinson. 
"GAIETY" ABROAD .. .; .. .. Richard Marsh. 274 

Illustrations by Bet Thomas. 

GIFT, THE .. .. Austin Philips. 421 

Illustrations by Gill>ert Hi. Inlay. 

GOLF, MARATHON. A Hole Thirty-five Miles Long T.H.Oyler. 32 

Illustrations from Phutogrnnhs and a Map. 


111 jst rations by Tom Wilkinson, 

Pnnnli' 1 Original from 




Illustrations from Diagrams. 

Illustrations by Graham Simmons. 

Illustrations by Stanley Davis, 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 


Illustrations by Cyrus Cunco. 

Assheton-Harbord, The Hon. Mrs. 

Illustration by Dudley Tcnnant. 

Baden-Powell, Sir Robert 

Illustrations by John Cameron. 

Bancroft, Sir Squire 

Illustration from an Old Print. 

Bernhardt, Mme. Sarah 

Illustrations by J. E. Sutcltffe. 

Cheylesmore, Lord 

Illustration by John Cameron. 

Churchill, Lady Randolph . . 

Illustration from a Painting. 

Ginistrelli, Chevalier 

Illustration by W. H. Byles. 

Lyttelton, General Sir Neville 

Illustration by Ernest Prater. 

Maxim, Sir Hiram 

Illustration by C Cuneo. 

Selous, F. C 

Illustration by John de Walton. 

Sinclair, Archdeacon . 

Illustration from a Photograph. 

Terry, Ellen 

Illustration by A. Davidson. 

Tree, Sir Herbert Beerbohm 

Illustration by Frank Gillett, R.I. 

Vaughan, Father Bernard 

Illustrations by John dV. Walton. 

Wood, V.C., Field-Marshal Sir Evelyn 

Illustrations by Ernest Prater. 


Illustrations by Rex Osborne. 


Illustrations from Photographs by the Author. 


Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 


Illustrations by Stanley Davis. 


Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 

" MARIE CELESTE," THE. The Greatest Mystery of the Sea 



Gertrude Bacon. 


E. Bland. 


Morley Roberts. 


A. Conan Doyle. 


A. Conan Doyle. 






. . Barry Pain. 


John J. Ward, F.E.S. 


P. G. Wodehouse. C56 
W. W. Jacobs. 771 

F. R. Burr 010. 222 

Morley Roberts. 283 

5°. 485 

Leonard Larkin. 636 
John J. Ward,F.E.S. 510 

Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull, C M. Padday, and Drawings from Sketches by the Author and from a 

MARK TWAIN, SOME NEW ANECDOTES OF Marion Schuyler Allen. 166 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

MEMOIRS OF A PRINCESS OF THE BLOOD ROYAL .. H.R.H. the Infanta Eulalia of Spain. 524,664 

Illustrations from Drawings by W. E. Webster, and from Photographs. 
MOTH, THE H.C. Hawtrey and Dorothea Conyers. 31 5 

Illustrations by Norman Morrow. 


Illustrations by Alfred Leete. 


Illustrations from Photographs by the Author. 


Div-a-Let ; or Division by Letters 799 

A Collection of Anagrams 800 

Bridge Problem and Solution 800 

MUSICAL PROFESSION, HUMOURS OF THE. Stories Told by Eminent Musicians and Singers . . 700 
Illustrations by Fred Holmes. 

OATES, CAPTAIN. My Recollections of a Gallant Comrade Commander Evans. 615 

n Photographs. 

May Edgintan. 7 1 5 

Illustrations from l*hotographs 

OH ! JAMES I The Story of a Man Who Tried to Prove the Goodness of the World 
Illustrations by Treyer Evans. 

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Illustrations by Cyrus Cuneo. 


Bertram Atkey. 341 


PERPLEXITIES. A Page of Puzzles Henry E. Dudeney. 

Illustrations from Diagrams. 
PETS, THE STRANGEST OF Dr. P. Chalmers Mitchell, F.R.S. 707 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

POISON BELT, THE. Chapter VI A. Conan Doyle. 66 

Illustrations by Harry Rountree. 


Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 

PRINCESS OF BABYLON, THE. A Story for Children from the French of Voltaire 785 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Illustrations by Dewar Mills. 

"RAFFLES" EXIST? DOES. Or, The Myth of the Gentleman Burglar . 

Illustrations by Graham Simmons and from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Alfred Lecte, and from Photographs and Sketches. 


Illustrations by Dewar Mills. 


Ilustrations by K. S. Annison. 

ROCKER. THE. A Tale of the Alps . . .; 

Illustrations by C. Fleming Williams. 

Alphonse Courlander. 173 

Alphonse BertiUon. 465 

.. G.P.Huntley. 393, 588 

Morley Roberts. 534 

E. Phillips Oppenheim. 156 

Frank Savile. 265 


Illustrations by Miss L. Hocknell. 


Illustrations by Miss Dorothy Wheeler. 


Illustrations by Wilton Williams. 

SHERLOCK HOLMES. " The Adventure of the Dying Detective " . . 

Illustrations by Wal Paget. 

"SHERLOCK HOLMES" IN EGYPT. The Methods of the Bedouin Trackers 

Illustrations by J. Cameron and from Photographs. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

SOUTH POLE, TO THE : Captain Scott's Own Story. Told from His Journals 

Illustrations from Photographs, Facsimiles, and Maps. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by Chas. Grave. 


Illustrations by W. E. Webster. 

THREE BUNS, THE. A Story for Children 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


Illustrations by Cyrus Cuneo. 


Illustrations by Wallis Mills. 


Illustrations by Stanley Davis. 






Perceval Gibbon. 

A. Conan Doyle. 

Greville H. Palmer- 

Martin Swayne. 

Gordon Meggy. 

.. 3*123,245.365 


.. J.B.Hobbs. 324 
Horace A. Vachell. 455 

Baroness E. Bila. $qt 

Talbot Mundy. 38 

.. J. J. Bell. 195 

Richard Marsh. 384 


Illustrations by Will Owen. 

WET MAGIC. A Story for Children 
Illustrations by H. R Millar. 


Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. 


Illustrations by Philip Baynes. 

Illustrations by H. M. Brock, R.I. 

W.W. Jacobs. 439 

E.Nesbit. 11 1, 227 

Alphonse Courlander. 563 

Raymund Allen. 691 

Marian Bower. 400 


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"HE facsimile overleaf of the first page of Captain 
Scott's Last Message to the Public is reproduced for 
the first time, by the kind permission of Lady Scott, It is 
a human document of the greatest interest to all admirers 
of the intrepid explorer, who will not fail to observe that, 
although writing in the face of certain death from exposure 
and starvation, he calmly and dispassionately sets forth the 
reasons for the failure of the Expedition in a message which 
to all appearances might have been written in the peaceful 
seclusion of his study. Surely such an instance of the 
power of mind over body is well-nigh unique. 
The page reads as follows: — 


The causes of this disaster are not due to faulty 
organization, but to misfortune in all risks which had 
to be undertaken, 

1. The I os* of pony (rampart in March. 19 II, 

obliged me to start late' than I bad intended 
and obliged the limits of stuff transported to 
be narrowed. 

2. The weather throughout the outward journey, 

and especially the long gale in 83* South, 
stopped us. 

3. The soft snow in lower reaches of glacier again 

reduced pace. 

We fought these untoward events with a will, and 
conquered, but it ate into our provision, reserve. 

Every detail of our food supplies, clothing, and 
depots, made on the interior ice sheet and on that long 
stretch oi 700 miles to the Pole and back, worked out 
to perfection ; the advance party would have returned 
to the Glacier in fine form and with surplus of food 
but for the astonishing failure of the man whom we 
had least expected to fail. Edgar Evans was thought 
the strongest man. of the party. 

The Beardmore Glacier is not difficult in fine 
weather, but on our return we did not get a single 
complete ly fine day. This, with a sick companion, 
enormously increased our anxieties 

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captain seen 1 => J^ 

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Illustrations from Ptotograpks by H. G. PONTING, Pkotogfraplicr to the 


This and the articles which are to follow are related from the journals of Captain 
Scott, and give the first connected story of the British Antarctic Expedition 1910-1913. 
The story has been told from the journals by Mr. Leonard Huxley, well known as 
the biographer of his celebrated father, and carefully read and revised by Commander 
Evans, R.N. With few exceptions, all the photographs, which have been selected 
from many hundreds, are here published for the first time. 

HE grandest Polar journey 
on record.' ' So Sir Clements 
Markham, the greatest living 
authority on Polar explora- 
tion, designates Scott's last 
expedition, with its great 
example of heroic fortitude 
in the face of overwhelming disaster. The 
most striking incidents of this expedition 
are related in these articles, which form the 
first detailed and illustrated account to be 
given to the world prior to the publication of 
the full story in book form this autumn. 

The Objects of the Expedition. 

The expedition was no mere dash to the 
Pole to snatch priority from rival explorers, 
though the hope of this laurel-leaf in the 

Vol. xlvu-1. 

crown of adventure was an added spur to 
natural ambition. The whole was organized 
on such a scale and with such a wide range 
of talent that it should reap a rich harvest 
of scientific results, whether the Southern 
party attained its goal or not. Much had 
been done before, but more remained to do 
— to determine the nature of the Western 
Mountains and their geological history, the 
questions connected with the volcanic areas 
and the past and present Ice Age ; to gather 
completest records of heat and cold, of air 
pressure and currents, of atmospheric elec- 
tricity and magnetism, the formation and 
movements of ice, in this region especially, 
which seemed to be the very birthplace of 
tempests and ice-floes. Limited though the 
range of life appears in these latitudes, there 
was much novel and interesting work for the 

Copyright, 1913, by " Everybody's Magazine." in the Unit t:\ Sta»«:s o r Arcviri 



biologists, especially in the life-history of the para- 
sites which infest the fish and seals ; while the 
winter journey of Dr. Wilson to find the eggs of the 
Emperor Penguin, so as to determine its affinities 
embryologically t " makes a tale for our generation 
which ! trust " (wrote Scott) ±l will not be lost in 
the tilling." 

The organization of sn large a party with such 
varied aims was com- 
plex to the last degree. 
But every detail of 
supply was thought out 
in advance ; every con- 
ceivable contingency 








provided for, At Lytlel- 
ton. New Zealand, while 
a leak in the Terra Nova 
was being repaired, 
everything was taken 
out, overhauled, re ~ 
sorted, and marked 
afresh by the inde- 
fatigable Lieu tenant 
Bowers, who afterwards 
re-stowed the stores so 
as to save space. Even 
so, there was little 
enough room; Captain 
Scott discovered later 
that the men in the 
forecastle v olu n t ee red 
to cramp their own 
quarters so as to pro- 
vide more stowage 






room. " They were prepared to pig it, any- 
how, and a few cubic feet of space didn't 
matter ; such is their spirit," 

Nevertheless, there remained a heavy deck- 
cargo, including thirty tons of coal, two and 
a half tons of petroh bales of fodder, meat in 
the ice-house, and the three motor- sledges, 
each in a package sixteen feet by five by 
four, so carefully covered with tarpaulin that 
they emerged spick and span after the tem- 
pestuous voyage. Besides thirty-three dogs, 
there were nineteen Siberian ponies on 
board, for experience had shown their great 
value as load -haulers over the comparative 
level of the Barrier ice. Of the dogs, a 
splendid collection , there were high hopes ; 
it was not till well on in the winter, 
after alternate satisfaction and disappoint- 
ments and careful discussion, that the 
Southern parfcv resolved not to take them up 

.zed by OOOgle 

the broken surface of the 
glacier, and so to the long 
expanse of the summit. 
The difference between 
dogs and men as travellers 
under such trying, mono- 
tonous conditions is 
curious- Dogs seem to feel 
the lack of variety and 
interest more than the toil- 
Where they would grow 
dispirited under the im- 
pression of the day, men 
could endure, looking to 
the future ; and this, it 
appears, apart from the 
detestable necessity of kill- 
ing of? the animals on the 
return trip, was one of 
the reasons for trusting to 
man-haulage on the later 
stages of the long journey. 

Misfortunes at the Start 

From the first the ex- 
pedition had more than its 
due share of ill-fortune. 
On November 26th, 191 o } 
the Terra Nova sailed out 
of Lyttelton Harbour amid 
a scene of great enthusiasm 
on the part of the hos- 
pitable and helpful New 
ZealanderSj a gay scene 
repeated three days later 
at Port Chalmers j where 
Scott joined the ship. 
If anything, more craft 
followed her out of the harbour, the tugs 
keeping company for a couple of hours. But 
the Southern Seas in "the roaring forties" 
are fierce and strong. Dirty weather began 
at once, and on the third day out a great 
gale nearly sent them all to the bottom. 
It was no longer the time to smile at individual 
struggles against sea-sickness, or the spectacle 
of the undaunted photographer, a developing- 
dish in one hand, an ordinary basin in the 

Nearly Wrecked in a Gale* 

At 4 p.m. on December 1st the storm came 
on. " Soon/* writes Scott, " we were plung- 
ing heavily and taking much water over the 
lee rail. Cases of petrol, forage, etc., began 
to break loose on the upper deck. The 
principal troubl^j^w^i^g^d by the loose 






The names are as follows! reading 



(in di:irgc uf 

Ml *«.!■- 

(in diarge 


(A.^iaL Zoologist) 


Nfi son 

£ VAN'S 
(Secuitd in 
Comma Eld) 


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from left to right uf ihe picture ; — 

Wilfwn Spmi'^on Boivkk* Gwan WnrciHT l*n.r.[M.M 

{Chjef of (Meteorologist) (in charge (standing) (Physicist) {(JcoloKUitj 

Scientific of atorcrs) (Ski expert) 


^ Motor 


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Original from 



This drift* ouf 
Jur.nd r*iiruftry 1*11 


AMP Ftbf^rau 

J he jferl was made 

N~~"^*^ Sauft) - AtkinSfin 
J^^ and Cf t'&n 
\ JL--.-y l*ir behind 




C*p Scot* And (f*0i 
foil InfocrtvtsfV 




Cfcmp 11 
i PONtft 
41NT JJAftt 




MA J 1 


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eoal-bags, which were bodily lifted 
by the seas and swung against the 
lashed cases ; they acted like batter- 
ing-rams. It was hard work moving 
these bags to places of better security. 
" The night wore on, the sea and 
wind ever rising and the ship ever 
plunging more distractedly. We 
shortened sail to maintopsail and 
staysail, stopped engines, and hove 
to, hut to little purpose. Tales of 
ponies down came frequently from 
forward, where Gates and Atkinson 
laboured through the entire night. 
Worse was to follow — much worse ; 
a report from the engine-room that 
the pumps had choked and the water 
risen over the gratings. From this 
moment j about 4 a.m., the engine- 
room became the centre of interest ; 
the water gained in spite of every 
effort. Lashley. to his neck in rush- 
ing water, stuck grimly to the work 
of clearing suctions, For a time, 
with donkey-engine and bilge-pump 
sucking, it looked as though the 
water would be got under, but the 
hope was short-lived ; five minutes 
of pumping invariably led to the 
same result — a general choking of 
the pumps. 

The Pumps Fall 

* ( The outlook appeared grim ; the 
hand-pump produced only a dribble, 
and its suction could not be got at ; 
as the water crept higher it got in 
contact with the boiler and grew 
warmer — so hot at last that no one 
could work at the suctions, Williams 
had to confess he was beaten and 
must draw fires. What was to be 
done ? The sea appeared higher than 
ever ; it came over the rail and poop, 
a rush of green water ; the ship wal- 
lowed in it. A great piece of the 
bulwarks carried clean away* 

" The bilge^ump is dependent on 
the main engine. To use this pump 
it was necessary to go ahead. It was 
at such times that the heaviest seas 
swept in over the lee rail ; over and 
over the rail from the fore-rigging 
to the main was covered by a solid 
sheet of curling water, which swept aft 
and high on the poop. On one occa- 
sion I was waist deep when standing 

<3W jiffaF ail of the poop * 



"The after- 
guard (i.e., the 
officers) was organ- 
ized in two parties 
by Lieutenant 
Evans to work 
buckets, the men 
were kept steadily 
going on the 
choked h a n d- 
purnp. * , . What 
a measure to count 
as the sole safe- 
guard of the ship 
from s i n k i n g — 
practically an at- 
tempt to bail her 
out ! Yet, strange 
as it may seem, 
the effort has not 
been wholly fruit- 
less ; the string of 
buckets, which has 
now been kept 
going for four 
hours, together 
with the dribble 
from the pump, 
has kept the water 
under — if any- 
thing, there is a 
small decrease. 

14 Meanwhile we 
have been think- 
ing of a way to 
get at the suction 
of the pump. A 
hole is being made 
in the engine-room 
bulkhead; the coal 
between this and 
the pump-shaft will 
be removed f and a 
hole made in the 
shaft. With so 
much water coming 
on board it is im- 
possible to open the hatch over the shaft, We 
are not out of the wood, but hope dawns, as 
indeed it should for me, when I find myself so 
wonderfully served. Officers and men are 
singing chanties over their arduous work, 
Williams is working in sweltering heat behind 
the boiler to get the door made in the bulk- 
head ; not a single one has lost his good spirits," 

Slowly the gale abated, and, though the sea 
was still mountainously high, the ship laboured 
less heavily and took in less water, Bailing 




by K; 



continued in two-hour shifts. By 10 p.m, 
the hole in the engine-room bulkhead was 
completed, " and Lieutenant Evans, wrig- 
gling over the co^lj found his way to the pump 
shaft and down it. He soon cleared the 
suction and, to the joy of all, a good stream 
of water came from the pump for the first 
time." Though the pump choked again 
several times, doubt had ended ; and with 
no second gale to follow immediately, the 
ship went on her way with the loss of two 
Original from 




ponies, one dog, sixty-five gallons of petrol, 
and a case of the biologist's spirit. 

Thence it was a case of " fighting her 
way South M through heavy seas and another 
gale till the ice was sighted on December 
9th and the pack entered on December 10th. 
With baffling winds and cross-currents, and 
the need of husbanding coal and only 
steaming when at last favourable leads 
opened out, they were kept prisoners for 
twenty days — l " an exasperating game. 
Great patience is the only panacea for our 
ill case.'* Men could get exercise by taking 
out their ski on the floes, but the long 
confinement augured ill for the ponies' 

Singing: to the Penguins. 

An odd entertainment on the floes was 
afforded by the big Adelie penguins. "The 
latest amusement is to sing songs to them. 
The music is supposed to charm them, and 
it appears that a party on our 'long de- 
tention * floe entertained a group of pen- 
guins with chanties for quite a long time 
and, as declared by the party, to the afford- 
ing of much mutual satisfaction/' Wilson 
later tried this lure in order to capture 
some specimens. They came towards him 


nova" from the crowVnest. 



when he was singing and 
ran away again when he 
stopped, seeming to be 

exceptionally shy young 
birds, but attracted to the 
ship by a fearful curiosity. 
It was ill-luck , but the 
bright side wets that every- 
one was ready to exert 
himself to the utmost. 
Cheerfulness and good- 
fellowship reigned , whether 
in calm or storm. Marine 
life, the very different 
movements of the bergs 
and floes, the discussion 
of plans, provided interest. 





Between a storm and a storm the release 
from their long captivity came almost 
suddenly, and a little before midnight 
on the last day of the year Mount Sabine 
could be seen a hundred and ten miles 
away. Nineteen hundred and eleven was 
ushered in by a glorbus day, when a man 
rould read and bask in the sun at n p,m., 
and on January 2nd Mount Erebus, their 
fiery landmark 7 rose into view, though still a 
hundred and fifteen miles distant* 

The large island on which stand Mounts 
Erebus and Terror is roughly triangular in 
shape, its sides, from forty to forty-five miles 
long, facing north-east, south, and west. The 
northern apex, first reached, is Cape Bird ; 
steering to the left, or south-east, the eastern 

Digitized by G< 

extremity of the island is Cape Crozier; where 
the great Ice Barrier comes down to the sea, 
its front extending well over four hundred 
miles to the east. Steering to the west, the 
ship enters McMurdo Sound, between the 
island and the Western Mountains on the 
mainland opposite* At the southern ex- 
tremity of this side of the island is the long 
promontory of Cape Armitage, with Hut 
Point, where the Disawery wintered in 1902. 
From this some five miles of sea-ice leads up 
to the flank of the Barrier, which backs on the 
mountain range of the continent and spreads 
at its foot y and was to be traversed for nearly 
four hundred miles south till a gap in the 
soaring ramparts is made by the Beard more 

Original from 





The Station at Cape Evans, 

The old winter quarters were undesirable, 
being exposed to the winds that swept the 
Barrier to the south of the island and Cape 
Crazier, as well as less accessible to a relief 
ship, (ape (rosier offered many advantages, 
but landing would have taken weeks. Then 
came the first good fortune of the expedition. 
An ideal spot was found half - way up 
the west coast, sheltered from the worst 
winds, and with a natural landing-stage in 
the shape of a level floe, one and a quarter 
miles wide, still firm and fast before the full 
summer break-up. In eight days the dis- 
embarkation was complete, the Main Hut 
habitable, though not actually finished, the 
stores in apple-pie order, and Bowers, the 
organizing genius, able to lay his hand on 
anything required ; the dogs and ponies 
refreshed, even skittish, sometimes upsetting 
their drivers and loads, and hauling load 

by Google 

after load across the ice and up the beach, 
some of the party taking ten journeys in the 
day — i.e., twenty-five miles. The speed with 
which all was completed was the consequence 
of the previous months of care. Only one 
catastrophe marred the perfection of the 
work, The thawing of the ice proceeded 
rapidly ; one of the motors broke through a 
soft patch where all had been well a few hours 
before and went to the bottom, happily 
without loss of life. 

An Exciting Adventure With Killer 

The strangest adventure was on the second 
day of the disembarkation, Scott, coming on 
deck a little late — for he had had a spell of 
forty- eight hours without sleep — saw six or 
seven killer -whales (or grampus), old and 
young, skirting the fast floe edge ahead of 
the ship. They seemed excited, and dived 
rapidly , almost touching the floe. Suddenly 

Original from 




they appeared astern, raising their snouts 
out of water. st 1 had heard weird stories of 
these beasts/' writes Scott, " but had never 
associated serious danger with them. Close 
to the water's edge lay the wire stern -rope 
of the ship, and our two Eskimo dogs were 
tethered to this. I did not think of- connect- 
ing the movements of the whales with this 
fact, and, seeing them so close, I shouted to 
Ponting, who was standing abreast of the ship, 
He seized his camera and ran towards the 
floe-edge to get a close picture of the beasts, 
which had momentarily disappeared. The 
next moment the whole floe under him and 
the do^s heaved up and split into fragments. 
Whale after whale rose under the ice, setting 
it rocking fiercely. One could hear the 
1 booming ' noise as the whales rose under the 
ice and struck it with their backs. Luckily 
Ponting kept his feet and was able to fly to 
security. By an extraordinary chance also, 
the splits had been made around and between 

the dogs, so that neither of them fell into the 
water. Then it was clear that the whales 
shared our astonishment ^ for one after 
another their huge, hideous heads shot 
vertically into the air through the cracks 
which they had made* As they reared them 
to a height of six or eight feet [killers run to 
twenty feet long J it was possible to see their 
tawny head-markings, their small, glistening 
eyes, and their terrible array of teeth, by far 
the largest and most terrifying in the world. 
There cannot be a doubt that they looked 
up to see what had happened to Ponting and 
the dogs. The latter were horribly frightened, 
and strained to their chains whining. The 
head of one killer must certainly have been 
within five feet of one of the dogs, 

** After this, whether they thought the game 
insignificant, or whether they missed Ponting, 
is uncertain ; but the terrifying creatures 
passed on to other hunting." And it was 
possible to rescue both the dogs, and, almost 





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more important, five or six tons of petrol 
stacked on a piece of ice now split off. Such 
singular intelligence, combined with the 
strength to break ice two and a half feet in 
thickness, thereafter commanded a wary 

Laying the Depots of Provisions. 

No sooner was all ashore than preparations 
began for the first depot-laying, to start if 
possible at the end of the month, as soon as 
the ponies were in proper condition. Here, 
as always, Scott found his transport officer, 
Bowers, invaluable, working out the figures ' 
of every detail and putting the results into 
practice. " He is a perfect treasure, and 
enters into one's ideas at once, and evidently 
thoroughly understands the principles of the 
game." Had he only been surrounded by a 
few men of courage, enthusiasm, and practical 
capacity, it would have been much ; but the 
perfection of working struck him as almost 
too good to be real, and, to give but one 
sentence of praise among many, " Indeed, 'it 
is hard to specialize praise where everyone is 
working so indefatigably for the cause. Each 
man in his way is a treasure." 

Nearly three months of the autumn 
(January 24th to April 13th) were spent in 
the depot-laying to the south, and at the same 
time a party, under Griffith Taylor, whom 
" Wilson, dear chap," had been carefully 
coaching, explored and geologized and gained 
experience among the Western Mountains. 

For the Southern party, the first objective 
was Hut Point, on Cape Armitage, at the 
opposite end of the island. The approach was 
by the " road " of fast ice along the shore, 
which must be expected to break up in a few 
days for the rest of the summer. A few 
miles south of the station a glacier descended 
from Mount Erebus, thrusting a massive 
tongue into the open water of the Sound. The 
track went of necessity over this tongue, and 
the way up and down was too steep for laden 
ponies. Accordingly, white the rest of the 
party and the stores and sledges were conveyed 
beyond the tongue by the ship, the ponies 
were led afoot, crossed the glacier, and reached 
the farther floe with a single mishap, one pony 
slipping into a snow-covered crack and having 
to be hauled out with ropes. 

Safety Camp. 

Once assembled on the farther floe the party 
set off in lively style. The task before the 
twelve men, eight ponies, and twenty-six 

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dogs was first to transport the eight tons of 
stores from the ship to a secure point on the 
permanent ice of the Barrier, afterwards 
called Safety Camp, about six miles east- 
south-east of Hut Point, fourteen from the 
ship, and twenty-one from the station, before 
the ice should break up. Then, with Safety 
Camp as home base, a further depot could be 
laid to the south. "Safety" was the third 
camp from the ship, and the teams made a 
threefold journey between camp and camp to 
convey all the stores. The dogs gave rise to 
various excitements, as when, at the outset, 
they started on hard ice with a light load ; 
nothing could hold them, and they dashed off 
over everything, to the imminent peril of their 
drivers ; or when, as Scott was returning to the 
ship, they caught sight of a whale breaching 
in the thirty-foot stretch of open water 
across their path, and promptly made for it. 
" It was all we could do to stop them before we 
reached the water." 

The Ponies. 

The ponies gave promise of being " real 
good." " They work with extraordinary 
steadiness, stepping out briskly and cheer- 
fully, and following in each other's tracks. 
The great drawback is the ease with which 
they sink in soft snow." Indeed, when con- 
ditions suddenly became very bad it seemed 
best to spare the ponies ; to bring up as much 
of the last load as the dogs could draw and 
leave the rest of the fodder where it stood, on 
the Barrier, but one and a half miles short of 
Safety Camp. A remedy was afterwards 
found in a sort of snowshoe. However, they 
were by no means tame or dull. One spirited, 
nervous fellow, at a morning start, got away 
when his head was left for a moment and 
charged through the camp at a gallop, finally 
cannoning with another sledge and breaking 
free. Another, led by the young ski-ing 
expert of the party, went well while he was 
alongside, but when he came up from the 
back the beast was frightened by the swish 
of the ski and fled, load and all, faster than 
the trained ski-runner in pursuit. 

By January 31st fourteen weeks' stores for 
man and beast (dating from the 25th) had 
been brought up. Scott's plan, which he 
now unfolded, was to go forward with five 
weeks' supplies, depot a fortnight's supply 
after travelling twelve or thirteen days, and 
return to Safety Camp. This would give 
light loads all round, and should be feasible 
if the surface were good. 

That afternoon all was ready for the start, 






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but before leaving an experiment was made. 
The one pair of horse snowshoes was tried on 
the quiet pony rejoicing in the name of 
Weary Willie. It could not have been ex- 
pected that the quietest animal would endure 
them without long practice, but " the effect 
was magical ; he strolled round as though 
walking on hard ground in places where he 
floundered woefully without them." Here 
was the chance of doubling the length of the 
journey. Within half an hour Wilson and 
Meares were off to the station, twenty miles 
away, in the hope of getting more. They 
returned next day empty-handed. The ice 
was out — no return to Cape Evans — no pony 
snowshoes — alas ! 

On February 2nd the actual start was 
made, Atkinson, with a sore foot, result of 
mistaken zeal in not early confessing to a 
blister, being compulsorily left behind, with 
Crean to look after him. 

The surface, hard in parts, was soft in 
others. All approved their leader's sugges- 
tion to march at night, with the hardest sur- 
faces, and rest with greater comfort for the 
ponies in the warm hours of the day. And 
so they moved on " through the eternal 
silence of the great white desert — the vast 
silence broken only by the mellow sounds of 
the marching column." 

In the deep drifts came the triumph of the 
sole pair of snowshoes. They were put on 
the big pony ; he walked about awkwardly 
for a few minutes only, then settled down, 
was harnessed, and led the way easily over 
the mass of soft snow deep drifted in the 
hollow of a great pressure wave. But as the 
worst drifts seemed to occur only in patches, 
" our course is to pick a way with the surer- 
footed beasts and keep the others back till 
the road has been tested. What extra- 
ordinary uncertainties the work exhibits. 
Every day some new fact comes to light, some 
new obstacle which threatens the gravest 
obstruction. I suppose this is the reason 
which makes the game so well worth playing." 

From Safety Camp fifteen marches were 
made, the first three east-south-east as far 
as Corner Camp, to get round a projecting 
spur of the mountains^ dubbed the Bluff, then 
due south to One Ton Camp, in lat. 79* 28£. 
The intention had been to plant this depot 
on the eightieth parallel, but three days had 
been lost at Corner Camp by reason of a 
fierce blizzard, and the ponies were beginning 
to feel the strain — chiefly, it seemed, because 
they had not yet grown thick enough coats, 
and partly on account of their forty days' 
confinement in the ship. From Camp 11, or 

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Bluff Camp, where an intermediate depot 
was made, the three weakest beasts were 
sent back with Ford and Keohane, under 
Lieutenant Evans, who was to take this 
opportunity of making an accurate survey 
on his return. Nevertheless, enough was 
carried forward to support a unit of four men 
for seven weeks, besides ponies and dogs. 

Incidents of the journey are chiefly con- 
cerned with the animals and the Barrier 

The Dogs. 

" With our present routine the dogs re- 
mained behind for an hour or more, trying 
to hit off their arrival in the. new camp soon 
after the ponies have been picketed. The 
teams are pulling very well, Meares's especi- 
ally. The animals are getting a little fierce. 
Two white dogs in Meares's team have been 
trained to attack strangers. They were 
quiet enough on board ship, but now bark 
fiercely if anyone but their driver approaches 
the team. They suddenly barked at me as 
I was pointing out the stopping-place to 
Meares, and Osman, my erstwhile friend, 
swept round and nipped my leg lightly. I 
had no stick, and there is no doubt that if 
Meares had not been on the sledge the whole 
team, following the lead of the white dogs, 
would have been at me in a moment. Hunger 
and fear are the only realities in dog life, and 
an empty stomach makes a fierce dog." 

It was strange and almost alarming to see 
the blind workings of natural instinct. The 
dogs, friendly in harness or at rest, were sus- 
picious of one another as soon as food was in 
their thoughts, and the smallest circumstance 
provoked a sudden fight. Equally sudden 
were the fights following a " mix up " on the 
march ; a quiet, peaceable team with wagging 
tails one moment, and the next a set of raging, 
tearing, fighting devils. 

" It is such stern facts that resign one to 
the sacrifice of animal life in the effort to 
advance such human projects as this/' 
One day, near the end of the outward march, 
the pony Weary Willie, true to his name, had 
lagged behind, and, being tired, slipped and 
fell. A dog-team was just coming up. The 
instant they saw him fall they dashed at him 
regardless of control. Weary Willy made a 
gallant fight for it, biting and shaking some of 
the dogs with his teeth, but getting much 
bitten himself, though by good hap not 
seriously. At last the men beat them off, 
breaking ski-sticks and steering-stick. Yet 
the dogs were so tough that they got off 

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Vol. niv-.-a. 

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A March Described, 

The regular march is 
thus described, under date 
of February i oth. between 
Camps 8 and 9 ; " We turn 
nut of our sleeping-bags 
about 9 p.m. Some whore 
about 11,30 I shout to 
the soldier [j/ P , Dates] : 
4 How arc things ? ' There 
is a response suggesting 
readiness, and soon after 
figures are busy amongst 
sledges and horses. It 
is chilling work for the 
fingers, and not too warm 
for the feet. The rugs 
come off the animals, the 
harness is put on, tents 
and camp equipment are 
lashed on the sledges, 
nose - bags filled for the 
next halt. One by one 
the animals are taken off 
the picket-rope and yoked 
to the sledges. Oates 
watches his animal warily, 
reluctant to keep such a 
nervous creature standing 
in the tracer. If one is 
prompt one feels impatient 
and fretful whilst watch- 
ing one's more tardy fel- 
lows, Wilson and Meares 
hang about ready to help 
with odds and ends. Still 
we wait; the picketing 
lines must be gathered 
up, a few pony putties need adjustment, a 
party has been slow striking their tent* With 
numbed fingers on our horse's bridle, and the 
animal striving to turn its head from the wind, 
one feels resentful. At last all is ready. 
One says, ' All right ; Bowers, go ahead,' and 
Birdie [for such was his nickname) leads his 
big animal forward, starting, as he continues, 
at a steady pace. The horses have got cold, 
and at the word they are off, the soldier's and 
one or two others, with a rush* Finnesko 
[fur boots] give a poor foothold on the slippery 
sastrugi, and for a minute or two drivers have 
some difficulty in maintaining the pace on 
their feet. Movement is warming, and in 
ten minutes the column has settled itself 
to steady marching. The pace is still brisk, 
the light bad ? and at intervals one or another 
of us suddenly steps on a slippery patch and 
falls prone. These are the only real incidents 






of the march ; for the rest, it passes with a 
steady tramp and slight variation of forma- 
tion. The weaker ponies drop a bit, but not 
far, so that they are soon up in line again 
when the first halt is made. We have come to 
a single halt on each half-march. Last night 
it was too cold to stop long, and a very few 
minutes found us on the go again, 

" As the end of the ha If- march approaches 
I get out my whistle. Then, at a shrill 
blast* Bowers wheels slightly to the left, his 
tent-mates lead still farther out to get the 
distance for the picket-lines. Gates and I 
stop behind Bowers and Evans, the two 
other sledges of our st|ULid behind the two 
others of Bowers's, So we are drawn up in 
camp formation* The picket-lines are run 
across at right angles to the line of advance 
and secured to the two sledges at each end. 
In a few minutes ponies are on the line.; 
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r»A'i e.Sh 



covered, tents up again, and cookers going. 
Meanwhile, the dog -drivers, after a long. 
cold wait at the old camp, have packed the 
last sledge and come trotting along our 
tracks. They try to time their arrival in the 
new camp immediately after our own, and 
generally succeed well. The mid-march halt 
runs into an hour, and at the end we pack 
up and tramp forth again. We generally 
make our final ramp about eight o'clock, 
and within an hour and a half most of us are 
in our sleeping-bags. Such is at present the 
daily routine. At the long halts we do our 
best for our animals hy building snow walls 
and improving their rugs, etc." 

The Dogs FaH Into a Crevasse, 

The farthest depot laid, there was no 
reason for keeping the swifter and the slower 

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units together, and Scott 
himself, with Mearcs, Wil- 
son, and Cherry-Garrard, 
pushed on with the dogs, 
completing the return 
journey lightly laden in 
six marches. The night 
before reaching Safety 
Camp, "we made a start 
as usual about 10 pan* 
The light was good at first, 
hut rapidly grew T worse till 
we could sec little of the 
surface. About an hour 
and a half after starting 
we came on mistily-out- 
lined pressure ridges. We 
were running by the 
sledges. Suddenly Wilson 
shouted, * Hold on to the 
sledge ! ' and I saw him 
slip a leg in a crevasse. 
I jumped to the sledge, 
but saw nothing. Five 
minutes after, as the 
teams were trotting side 
by side, the middle dogs 
of our team disappeared. 
In a moment the whole 
team was sinking. Two 
by two we lost sight of 
them, each pair struggling 
for foothold. Osman, the 
leader, exerted all his 
great strength and kept 
a foothold ; it was won- 
derful to see him. The 
sledge stopped, and we 
leapt aside. The 
situation was clear in another moment. We 
had actually been travelling along the bridge 
of a crevasse ; the sledge had stopped on 
it, whilst the dogs hung in their harness in 
the abyss, suspended between the sledge and 
the leading dog. Why the sledge and our- 
selves didn't follow the dogs we shall never 
know. 1 think a fraction of a pound of added 
weight must have taken us down. As soon 
as we grasped the position we hauled the 
sledge clear of the bridge and anchored it. 
Then we peered into the depths of the crack. 
The dogs were howling dismally, suspended 
in all sorts of fantastic positions and evidently 
terribly frightened. Two had dropped out 
of their harness, and we could see them indis- 
tinctly on a snow-bridge far helow. The rope 
at either end of the chasm had bitten deep 
into the snow at the side of the crevasse, and 
with the weight below it was impossible to 
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move it. lfy this time Wilson and Cherry- 
Garrard, who had seen the accident, had come 
to our assistance. At first things looked very 
bad for our poor team, and 1 saw little prospect 
of rescuing them, I had luckily inquired 
about the Alpine rope before starting the 
march, and now Cherry-Garrard hurriedly 
brought this most essential aid. It takes 
one a little time to majte plans in such 
sudden circumstances, and for some minutes 
our efforts were rather futile, Wc could get 
not one inch on the main truce of the sledge 
or on the leading rope, which was binding 
Osman to the snow with a throttling pressure. 

"Then thoughts became clearer. We 
unlashed our sledge^ putting in safety our 
sleeping-bags with the tent and cooker. 
Choking sounds from Osman made it clear 
that the pressure on him must soon be 
released. I seized the lashing off M cares 1 s 
sleeping-bag, passed the tent-poles across the 
crevasse, and with Mearcs managed to get a 
few inches on the leading line* This freed 
Osman, whose harness was immediately cut, 

" Then, securing the Alpine rope to the 
main trace, we tried to haul up together. 
One dog came up and was unlashed , but by 
this time the rope had cut so far back at the 

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edge that it was useless to attempt to get more 
of it. But we could now unbend the sledge 
and do that for which we should have aimed 
from the first — namely, run the sledge across 
the gap and work from it. We managed to 
do this j our fingers constantly numbed, 
Wilson held on to the anchored trace whilst 
the rest of us laboured at the leader end. 
The leading rope was very small and 1 was 
fearful of its breaking, so Mearcs was lowered 
down a foot or two to secure the Alpine rope 
to the leading end of the trace. This done, 
the work of rescue proceeded in better order, 
Tw r o by two we hauled the animals up to the 
sledge and one by one cut them out of their 
harness. Strangely, the last dogs were the 
most difficult, as they were close under the 
gap, bound in by the snow-covered rope. 

" Finally, with a gasp, we got the last poor 
creature on to firm snow. We had recovered 
eleven of the thirteen, Then I wondered if 
the last two could not be got , and we paid down 
the Alpine rope to see if it was long enough 
to reach the snow -bridge on which they were 
coiled. The rope is ninety feet, and the 
amount remaining showed that the depth of 
the bridge was about sixty-five feet, I made 
a bowline and the others lowered me down. 




The bridge was firm, and I got hold of both 
dogi, which were hauled up in turn to the 
surface. Then I heard dim shouts and howls 
above. Some of the rescued animals had 
wandered to the second sledge and a big 
fight was in progress. All my rope- tenders 
had to leave to separate the combatants, but 
they soon returned, and with some effort I 
was hauled to the surface. All's well that 
ends well , and certainly this was a most 
surprisingly happy ending to a very serious 
episode ,? — which took, ail told, nearly two 
hours. Above all, Scott was pleased by the 
steadiness and resource of his three com- 

The conclusion arrived at was the need to 
plot out the danger zone among the cracks 
running from the Bluff to Cape Crozier, and 
to adhere rigidly to the first pony-route, 
where the cracks appeared to be very narrow, 
February 22nd, when they reached Safety 
Camp again early in the morning, was an 
agitating day. They found Lieutenant Evans 
and his return party, but with only one pony. 
Both other weaklings had succumbed to the 
blizzards* After a short sleep they visited 
Hut Point, but Atkinson and Crean had 
vanished. It was guessed that they had gone 
to meet the new-comers at Safety Camp ; 

but their tent was not to be seen beside the 
others, and — alarming to contemplate — the 
ice over which they must have passed near 
Cape Armitage was full of water-holes. It 
was so ; they had come, and their tent was 
not yet up. But the mail they brought with 
them disturbed the sense of relief. 

News of Amundsen. 

A letter from Lieutenant Campbell told 
how he had found Amundsen established in 
the Bay of Whales — one hundred and twenty- 
six statute miles nearer to the Pole than 
Scott's station , and with many dogs, ready 
to start his dash for the South Pole at an 
earlier date than ponies could set out. This 
knowledge might have hurried a smaller man 
into staking success upon a rival dash with 
dogs only, but Scott resolved to adhere to the 
plans he had so carefully thought out and 
proceed exactly as though this had not 
happened. Strange that history can produce 
a parallel in the case of Ross seventy-three 
years ago — only with the result that he was, 
as it were, driven off his intended beat into 
the making of his famous discoveries. 

After a day's rest Scott organized a party, 
including two man-hauled sledges and one 





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sledge drawn by Jimmy Pig,.* who alone of 
the three sent back from the depot party had 
survived the severe weather at the end of 
February. They took further supplies to 
Corner Camp. The experience of this trip 
showed that for those who were practised, 
pulling on ski was easier than pulling on foot ; 
beyond doubt very long days 1 work could be 
done by men in ha/J condition on ski. 
Every one, it is noted down, must be prac- 
tised in this. 

At Corner Camp they hoped to have met 
Oates and Bowers on their slower march back ; 
but the day before arriving the latter were 
seen far away on the horizon making for 
home on a different track. And Scott's team, 
hurrying back, and held up for a day by 
another blizzard, found them at last at Safety 
Camp, the ponies in sorry condition after the 
blizzard of unexampled severity for the time 
of the year, which had raged there for two 
days, burying parts of the sledges three or 
four feet under drift. 


The word now was back to the shelter of 
Hut Point. The Barrier was cold, the sea- 
ice dangerous. The return was disastrous. 
First Weary Willy collapsed, and, though 
Scott and the two who stayed with him made 
every effort, he died in the night. "It is 
hard to have got him back so far only for 
this." The hard fact stood out that even 
with the best of coats the ponies lose con- 
dition badly if caught in a blizzard ; and an 
expedition could not afford to let them lose 
condition at the beginning of a journey ; this 
" makes a late start necessary for next 

This was bad ; but the events of the next 
forty-eight hours bade fair to wreck the 
expedition. The only consolation was the 
miraculous avoidance of loss of human life. 

It will be remembered that some five miles 
of sea-ice extended between the solid flank of 
the Barrier and Hut Point, and that the pony- 
track made a large elbow over the Sound 
instead of following a straight line. What 
was the horror of the three men, on drawing 
near, to see that the dark and lowering sky 
ahead, with its mirage of broken floes, was no 
ordinary optical illusion. The sea was full 
of broken pieces of Barrier edge. Their 
thoughts flew to the ponies and dogs with 

The ponies were to have been called after the schools which 
contributed to their purchase : but sailors are great hands at 
inventing nicknames, and these nicknames were too much for 
the official nomenclature. 

by L^OOgle 

Bowers's and Wilson's sections of the party, 
who had been sent on while Scott tended the 
sick pony. 

Turning to follow the ice-edge, they 
suddenly discovered a working crack, dashed 
over this, and slackened pace again after a 
quarter-mile. At each new crack pace was 
put on, not slackening again till they were 
upon solid ice to the eastward on the line 
between Safety Camp and the Castle Rock 
above the Hut. Here they pitched tent, 
and, with a leader's thoughtfulness, Scott 
sent a warning by Gran to Lieutenant Evans, 
who was returning to the depot. He expected 
that if either section of the party ahead had 
reached safety, whether on the Barrier or at 
Hut Point, they would immediately have sent 
a warning message to Safety Camp, and by 
this time it should have reached them. 
Anxiety reigned. " Some half -hour passed, 
and suddenly, with a ' Thank God ! ' I made 
certain that two specks in the direction of 
Pram Point were human beings." These 
turned out to be Wilson and Meares, who had 
got the dogs to Hut Point. They feared the 
ponies were adrift on the sea-ice, having seen 
them with glasses from Observatory Hill, 
whereupon they had hastened out without 
breakfast. Before anything else was done 
they were given cocoa. Then Wilson espied 
a figure hurrying towards the depot from the 
west. Intercepted by the speedy Gran, it 
turned out to be Crean, of the pony party, 
much spent with haste. 

A Thrilling Story : Adrift on the Ice-Floes. 

He brought brief word of a thrilling story, 
the fullness of which, in the deeds of rescued 
and rescuers, can only be realized by Polar 
explorers. Bowers, with Cherry Garrard and 
Crean, had duly made for Hut Point with the 
ponies. As they advanced over the sea-ice 
towards Hut Point one crack appeared after 
another, till at last they reached one which 
showed the ice to be actually on the move. 
At once they turned and hastened back — but 
the ice was drifting out to sea ! 

The ponies behaved splendidly, jumping 
the ever-widening cracks with extraordinary 
sagacity, while their devoted drivers launched 
the sledges back over the cracks in order not 
to risk the ponies' legs. Eventually they 
reached what looked like a safe place. Men 
and ponies were thoroughly exhausted. Camp 
was pitched, and the weary party fell asleep. 
But soon Bowers was awakened by a strange 
noise. The ice had begun to break up even 
at their camping spot ; one of their four ponies 




had disappeared into the sea, and they were 
surrounded by water. 

Packing up hurriedly, for five long hours 
thev fought their way over three-quarters of a 
mile of drifting ice. getting ponies and loads 
from floe to floe. They stuck to their charges 
like men, On them depended the hope of 
reaching the Pole, for the loss of more pontes 
and equipment must spell ruin fur their 
chiefs plans. Open water cut them off from 
the Harrier, and had they been able to reach 
it there was small prospect of finding a way 
for the ponies up the ice-wall. And all rouiid 
the savage killer- whales were blowing and 
snorting in the open water-spaces. 

Crean then, with great gallantry, volun- 
teered to 
make his way 
somehow to 
firm ground 
and find help, 
It was a des- 
perate adven- 
ture. He 
jumped from 
floe to floe, 
and at last, 
with the help 
of his ski- 
stick, climbed 
up the fare 
of the Barrier 
from a piece 
of ice which 
touched the 
ice-cliff at the 
right moment. 

Th? ice had ceased to drift, and lay close 
and quiet against the Barrier edge. We 
got the men at 5,30 p.m., and all the sledges 
and effects on to the Barrier by 4 a,m. 
As wc were getting up the last loads the ice 
showed signs of drifting off /and we saw it 
was hopeless to try and liiove the ponies. 
The three poor beasts had to be left on their 
floe for the moment, well fed. None of our 
party had had sleep the previous night, and 
all were dog tired, I derided we must rest, 
but turned out at 8.30." By that time the 
floe had broken from the ice-anchors with 
which they had essayed to hold it, and had 
disappeared, Hope re%'ived when the animals 
were descried through the glasses about a 

mile away to 
the north- 
west. They 
packed and 
went on at 
once. They 
found it easy 
to get down 
to the poor 
animals , and 
decided to 
rush them for 
a last chance 
of life- But 
while Scott 
searched for 
and found a 
possible way 
u p f r the 




Cocoa, Sugar* Tea- 



Garrard stayed with Bowers at his request, 
for little Bowers would never give up his 
charge while a gleam of hope remained, and 
for a whole day these two were afloat. 



others tried 
to leap Punch 
across a gap. The poor beast fell in, 
and eventually had to be killed. " It was 
awful. I recalled all hands and pointed out 
my road. Bowers and Qatcs went out on 
it with a sledge and worked their way to the 
remaining ponies, and started back with them 
along the same track. Meanwhile, Cheny and 
I dug a road at the Barrier edge, We saved 
one pony. For a time I thought we should get 
both, but Bowers 1 s poor animal slipped at a 
jump and plunged into the water. We dragged 
him out on some brash ice, killer-whales all 
about us in an intense state of excitement. 
The poor animal couldn't rise and the only 
merciful thing was to kill it," 

Thereafter it took three days to get all 
safe to Hut Point by a circuitous route, 
and so on by the hills and the dangerous 
ice- foot, 

I The next instalment will describe how the party passed their time in their winter quarters aud 

how they started on their fast fatal journey to the Po/e.) 

n Pnnnl" Original from 


To the Rescue ! 

To the rescue, then ; but not without a 
plan. First to Safety Camp, to take up some 
provisions and oil, and then to the scene of 
the disaster, marching carefully along the 
ice-edge. " To my joy I caught sight of the 
lost party." The two men, jumping from 
floe to floe, reached a bit of ice which the 
turn of the tide had brought to rest against 
the Barrier face, " We got our Alpine rope, 
and with its help dragged the two men to 
the surface. I pitched camp at a safe 
distance from the edge, and then we all 
started salvage work. 


by Google 

Original from 


3 Martin 


N T the night that the gorilla 
arrived at Tarnley Towers Sir 
Clifford Hall gave a dinner- 

It was the first dinner-party 
he had given since he had 
received his baron etcy, and 
he was successful in persuading a goodly 
selection of the county folk round about 
Little Wester ham to accept his invitations. 
There were several reasons why he obtained 
this success, the chief of which being that he 
was an exceedingly wealthy bachelor, It 
was not clearly understood quite how he had 
made his money, but it was known that he had 
been a man of importance in South Africa, 

In appearance be was medium-sized, with 
sleek black hair } a prominent beaky nose, and 
an oSive complexion. Some people said he 
was a foreigner, and others said they didn't 
care what he was, since he gave excellent 
dinners and was quite amusing in his own way. 

On the night that the gorilla arrived his 
butler, Howard j made a discreet inquiry. 

11 This — er— hanimal, sir/' he observed, 
catching his master just before going up to 
dress, 44 Where shall I put him, sir ? " 

Sir Clifford laughed, 

" Don't try and put him anywhere, Howard , 
or else he T ll put you somewhere. Remember , 
he's a gorilla, straight from West Africa." 

'* Really, sir ! " Howard coughed slightly, 
" Then he will be in a cage, sir, I presume ? ,J 

" Heaven help you ? Howard, I hope so, A 
gorilla isn't a pet monkey, I want him put 
in the billiard-room to-night in order that my 
guests may have a look at him. To-morrow 

igitized by Google 

VoL *lvi— 3. 

Til have him moved into one of the out* 
houses near the greenhouse furnace." 

u Yes, sir." 

" Tell the men to carry the cage into the 
billiard-room and put it in the corner near the 
alcove. Get everything clear and in order, 
for we'll all come and see him after dinner. I 
expect he'll come during dinner. ?J 

It was typical of Hall to startle Little 
Westerham with the advent of a gorilla. 
Some months before a neighbour had been 
talking about private menageries and telling 
anecdotes about some of those that exist in 
England, and Hall immediately decided to 
begin one himself. He began modestly with 
small mammals and a few odd species of birds. 
Then someone said his menagerie was not 
exciting enough, so Hall, after dallying with 
the idea of a tigrr, came tu the conclusion that 
a gorilla would be still more remarkable. 

So he put an advertisement in the papers, 
and at length received a letter from a firm of 
shipping exporters in Little Thames Street 
which ran as follows : — 

" In reply to your advertisement, we beg 
to inform you that we have agents in various 
parts of the world who can make arrangements 
for the capture of wild animals. We should 
be pleased to undertake your commission, but 
would like to point out that a gorilla, taken 
straight from its natural haunts, such as you 
wish, will be an expensive job." 

The firm was tailed Messrs. Hobrav and 

Hall replied that cost was of no importance 
to him* He had set his heart on a gorilla, 
and it must he obtained regardless of expense, 




Messrs. Hobray and Child, of Little Thames 
Street, E.C., wrote to say that their agents 
had been communicated with and that chey 
would let Sir Clifford know as soon as they 
received any news. 

Six months elapsed before Messrs. Hobray 
and Child communicated again, and Hall had 
almost forgotten about them when he received 
a letter to say that the gorilla had arrived at 
the Albert Docks, and would he please wire 
instructions to Hobray, Little Thames Street. 

It had seemed very good to Hall that the 
gorilla should arrive on the same day as he 
gave a dinner-party, and he wired to say it 
was to be sent down by motor-car, or motor- 
lorry, instantly. And then, looking again at 
the letter, his eye fastened on the name. 

Hobray I 

It reminded him of an incident of his past. 

It was curious, but when the firm had 
written before and signed themselves Hobray 
and Child he had not noticed anything. But 
the single name struck him instantly. 
Hobray ! A strange coincidence ! Nothing 
more. And yet — it was a rare name. 

He dismissed the unpleasant recollections 
that had arisen, and turned to the pleasures 
of the moment. 

But after speaking to Howard, his butler, 
and while he was dressing, his thoughts 
reverted again to the subject. 

" Hobray/' he murmured, as he stared at his 
well-fed appearance in the mirror, " of Little 
Thames Street. It cannot be he. Why 
should he be in Little Thames Street ? " 

He laughed softly, and when he went down 
to greet his guests he felt in excellent spirits. 
The gorilla had not yet arrived, but soon all 
the guests knew that the animal was expected. 
Dinner began with conversation about gorillas, 
and monkeys in general, and several men told 
rather gruesome tales of the sagacity and 
ferocity of the brutes and of their strange 
passions and supernatural strength. Sir 
Clifford added some tales he had heard in 
South Africa, and very soon had the satis- 
faction of seeing that the women were getting 
worked up into a nervous state. When 
Howard announced that the gorilla was 
being carried into the billiard-room at that 
moment there was quite a sensation. 

" Oh, Sir Clifford," exclaimed one woman, 
" I feel so dreadfully nervous. Are you sure 
w r e are perfectly safe ? " 

" Quite/' said Hall, reassuringly. " The 
beast is safely caged, and cannot possibly 

" Well, they aren't nice companions/' 
commenced an elderly soldier next her. " I've 

by Google 

heard of a man being earned off by one 
and kept tied up to a tree for days while the 
brute fed him. He went mad after he was 

The women shuddered. 

" What are you going to do with him ? " 
asked the soldier. 

" Keep him in captivity," replied Hall. 
" I fancy he will prove a very interacting 
captive. If possible, I'll try and tame 

41 Well, mind he doesn't escape and terrorize 
the whole neighbourhood. We sha'n't be 
grateful to you if he does. To meet a full- 
sized gorilla after dark would be an unpleasant 

After dinner a move was made to the 
billiard-room. It lay at the end of a long 
corridor, and was approached by a little 
flight of steps. The guests streamed along 
the corridor, chatting and laughing, while 
Sir Clifford led the way. 

The lights were fully on above the table, 
but the corners of the room were in the 
shadow. At the far end he could make out 
the outline of a large cage. He went towards 
it quickly. 

The cage, made of heavy iron bars, was 
about eight feet in height and length. It 
rested on a base of thick planks of wood, 
bound together with steel ribs, into which 
the iron bars were sunk and slotted at the 
end. Within the cage sat the gorilla. 

The guests thronged round, and for a 
moment there was a hush. The beast 
crouched in a corner nearest the wall. His 
head was bent forward on his breast, and the 
attitude was one of extreme dejection. But 
it was clear that he was a good specimen. 
From what could be judged as he crouched 
in his corner, he stood almost six feet in height, 
and his arms and shoulders seemed gigantic. 
His general colour was blackish, with a marked 
brownish tinge on the hair of his chest and 
head. The ears were small and the head 
elongated, with a deep groove along each side 
of the nostrils. The eyes were overhung 
by projecting skin and hair, and although 
several attempts w r ere made to make him 
look up he refused to take any interest in 
the spectators. 

44 Poor thing ! " exclaimed one of the 
women. 44 He looks so sorry for himself. 
Has he had anything to eat ? " 

Fruit, in the shape of pineapples and 
bananas and oranges, was thrust into the cage, 
but the huge ape made no effort to take any. 
His arms hung listlessly at his side, and his 
head remained sunken on his chest. By 




bending low and looking up at him Sir 
Gifford caught the glint of the half-closed 
eyes, and started away. 

" By Jove ! " he exclaimed, " he's alive all 
right. I never saw such a gleam in any 
animal's eyes before." 

Others looked, but the gleam had died 
away. The strange brute from the depths 
of the Congo forests had looked only at Sir 
Clifford Hall with that sudden gleam. 

A discussion was started as to how gorillas 
slept, and it was suggested it should be 
provided with a bed. The nervousness of 
the guests passed away, for the beast seemed 
so mournful that everyone felt touched by 
its obvious despair at being torn from its 
savage home. 

Sir Clifford wanted to christen it, but no 
one could think of a suitable name. 

" It's curious," he said, at length. " I put 
an advertisement in the papers, and then wait, 
and six months later I get a gorilla. Every- 
thing done for you — all the business of making 
an expedition, setting traps, overland car- 
riage, and endless trouble. All done in reply 
to your advertisement." 

He wanted to stir up the beast with a stick, 
but people restrained him. 

" If that brute loses its temper, I don't 
think those bars will count for much," said 
someone. " Mind you get him into a stronger 
place to-morrow. Look at his muscles." 

The great ape's muscles were enormous, 
so large that even when the arms hung loosely 
they showed in great lumps under the 
hairy skin. 

" Perhaps it is safer to leave him alone," 
said Hall. " But I must have another look 
at his eyes." 

He stooped down again, and once more 
saw those dark orbs light up with a sudden 
gleam that sent a thrill down his back and 
made a faint shiver pass over him. 

" I believe he doesn't like me," he ex- 
claimed. " If that isn't pure ferocity, I 
don't know what it is." 

" He's probably guessed that you are the 
supreme cause of his troubles," said the 

People began to stroll away to the drawing- 
room, and the gorilla was left alone in its 
cage. When the room was empty it moved 
slightly and turned its head. One of its 
arms crept towards the bolt that fastened 
the door, and then, as if the beast had 
lost interest, swung back slowly to its 

Before midnight everyone had left except 
a certain Samuel Brockman, a financier, and 

by C^OOgle 

intimate friend of Sir Clifford Hall. He was 
rather like Hall in appearance. 

" Well," he remarked, " I congratulate you 
on your dinner, and your guests, and your 
baronetcy. You are getting on in the world, 

" I am," said the new baronet, com- 

" You must marry now," advised the other. 
" Marry one of the girls round about here." 

Sir Clifford laughed and changed the 

" Come and look at my gorilla before you 
go," he said, an hour later. " Perhaps it 
will be a little more lively by now." 

They went down the corridor to the billiard- 
room. The lights were still burning over 
the table. In the shadowy corner loomed 
the big cage. The ape was in much the same 
position as before, huddled up in its corner, 
a huge, bulky mass that scarcely moved. 

" Wake up," said Hall. He thrust his fat 
hand between the bars. The gorilla stinred 
a little. " Wake up ! " 

He snatched his hand back just in time,, 
for the beast turned on it suddenly. 

" Ah, would you ? " said Hall, and he \ 

" He doesn't show his teeth," remarked 
Brockman. " I thought he would bare his 
tusks if he was angry. By the way, who did 
you get him through ? " 

Sir Clifford lit a cigar and strolled to the 

" Well, it's rather funny, but the name of 
the firm is Hobray and Child." 

He looked across the lighted billiard- 
table at his friend, and blew a big cloud of 

" Hobray ! " 

"Yes. Of course, it's not he. Merely a 
pure coincidence." 

" It's an uncommon name." 

" I know. But what on earth could Charles 
Hobray have to do with a shipping firm in 
Little Thames Street ? I tell you it is some- 
one else with the same name. Besides, even 
if it was Charles Hobray, what difference does 
that make ? You know he's far too much, 
of a coward to touch me. He knows well 
enough I could arrest him if I cared to." 

" And he could arrest you, I suppose ? " 

" No, he couldn't do that," replied the 
other quickly. " I've never done anything 
legally wrong to Hobray." 

" But you treated him about as badly as 
you could," said Brockman, with a chuckle, 
" If ever a man had good reason to hate 






PY JOVBl' HR RXC}.AIMPi>, ' HJt'S *[JVS A|.|, RIGHT. [ «BVR* 





Original from 



another man, Hobray has good reason to 
hate you." 

" I admit it. I ruined him not once, but 
twice. But I did it on purpose. I loathe 
him — if possible more than he loathes me. 
If he were drowning in a pond, I would turn 
my back on him." 

Brockman came up to the fireplace. 

" I've never heard of that firm in Little 
Thames Street. How did you get into com- 
munication with them?" 

" By advertisement. I advertised for a 
gorilla. For some days I had no reply. 
Then Hobray and Child wrote and offered 
their services." 

" In reply to your advertisement ? " 

" Of course." 

Brockman looked across the room. The 
dim bulk of the great ape was visible in the 
cage, and he watched it for a moment. 

" Well, I must be off," he said. " I agree 
with you that even if it is Hobray I don't 
see what he can do. Unless " 

He paused. An idea came to him, and he 
crossed the room and began to examine the 
cage carefully. 

" What are you doing ? " asked Hall. 

" It occurred to me the cage might be 

The two men looked at each other for a 

" Nonsense ! " said Hall, but he had become 
a little pale. 

They could find nothing suspicious. The 
bars were sound. The bolts on the sliding 
door were strong and held down by catches. 
No animal could have undone them. 

Brockman laughed. 

" It's all right/ 1 he said. " It was only a 
fancy. Hobray wouldn't do anything like 

" No. Hobray was always an arrant 
coward. He'd never do anything that was 
likely to be found out. He had a horror of 
being arrested. That scar on his forehead 
would always give him away." 

Sir Clifford Hall rattled the bars of the cage. 

" Good night, Sir Gorilla," he cried. 
" To-morrow you'll be put in your permanent 
quarters, and if you don't cheer up a bit 
I'll have to feed you on port and minced 

But the gorilla sat listlessly without moving. 

Hall waved his hand, switched off the lights, 
and followed his friend out of the room. 
After Brockman had gone off in his big motor, 
Sir Clifford smoked in his study for a few 
minutes and reflected upon the successes 
of the evening. Then recollecting he had a 

Digitized by CjCK 

letter to write to catch the early morning 
post, he sat down at the writing-table. 

The study was a small room. The writing- 
table stood against the wall farthest from the 
door. Just to the right of it hung an oval 
mirror, so placed that anyone seated at the 
writing-table could see the door behind him 
reflected in it. 

Sir Clifford wrote for some time, for the 
letter was important. The house was quite 
silent. He had covered a couple of sheets, 
and was just reaching out his hand for a third 
sheet when his eye caught the mirror. 

He could see the reflection of the door dis- 
tinctly. He knew he had shut it. But now 
it was open, not very much, but sufficient to 
let him see the light from the hall outside* 
A narrow border of light was round its margin, 
and as he stared this border widened slowly. 
There was no doubt about it. The door was 

He tried to turn in his chair, but the mirror 
held his eye. He could see a view of the hall 
now. But what was opening the door ? 
None of his servants would have come in like 
that. It could not be a current of air, for no 
draught could turn a handle. And almost 
before he saw he knew what it was, and fear 
struck him rigid. His mouth went dry and his 
tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, for 
looking round the corner of the door he 
saw the strange, narrow head of the great 

Hall sat staring, with dropped jaw and 
hammering heart. He could not move. 
And then he saw a thing that almost made hirn 
mad on the spot. The hairy arm of the ape 
was stretched in through the door and one 
finger touched the electric light switch that 
was in the wall close by, and next moment the 
room was in darkness, for the door had shut. 

The gorilla was in the room. 

Hall, his senses sharpened acutely, heard 
a scmnd that again threatened to draw reason 
from his mind. 

The gorilla had turned the key and locked 
the door. 

Hall heard the click distinctly, and the 
faint snap as the lock went home. 

Then there was silence. Neither the man 
nor the beast stirred. But very gradually 
the power of movement came back to Hall, 
and with it the power of thinking swiftly* 
On the left side of the writing-table, let into 
the polished wood, was an electric button. 
He put out his hand in the darkness with 
infinite caution, and by accident touched the 
lid of the inkpot, which closed with a snap. 
He clenched his teeth and waited. Through 




the heavy curtains that were drawn across 
the window came a faint light, for the moon 
was shining, and as his eyes became accus- 
tomed to it he began to make out the dark 
outline of pieces of furniture around him. He 
was still looking in the direction of the mirror, 
not daring to turn his head in case the ape 
should hear. 

The noise from the falling lid of the inkpot 
did not make the animal move. Hall could 
hear nothing, and his hand went on creeping 
steadily towards the button. His fingers 
touched the ivory surface. But before press- 
ing it he paused. Would the sound of the 
bell ringing in the servants' quarters be 
audible ? If so, the noise might startle the 
ape — and more than that, for the brute 
in the darkness behind him seemed to have 
an almost human knowledge, and would 
probably understand why the bell was ring- 
ing. Hall, in an agonizing effort, tried to 
remember if the bell could be heard from the 

There was a movement behind him, and 
against the faintly-luminous curtains he saw 
the huge bulk of the gorilla. Hall pressed 
the button. The sound of the bell rang out 
clearly in the stillness of the house. 

Although his hand was trembling violently, 
he kept his finger jammed hard on the button. 
The bell, far away, went on ringing shrilly. 
Hall was suddenly caught by the shoulders 
and wrenched away from the writing-table. 
The bell stopped abruptly. 

It happened that Howard, the butler, was 
in the yard at the back of the building, giving 
the house-dogs a run before locking up, when 
the bell began ringing. He listened to it for 
a moment, and then, since the sound was 
continuous, became alarmed and hurried in- 
doors. He ran through the servants' hall 
and looked up at the indicators. It was the 
study bell that rang so wildly, and while he 
was looking it stopped and there was silence. 

Howard went quickly up the stairs and 
reached the main hall. The lights were 
burning. He instinctively looked down the 
corridor that led to the billiard-room, and 
saw that the door at the far end was ajar. 

He stood for a moment staring. Before 
he had decided what to do he heard the study 
door open. He jumped round and saw 
the gorilla standing in the doorway, looking 
at him. 

Howard saw the study was in darkness 
behind the beast. With considerable presence 

by Google 

of mind the butler sprang into *kc electric 
lift beside him, touched the key, and was 
borne swiftly to the upper storey. The 
gorilla remained where, it was, and Howard 
caught a last glimpse of it watching him dully 
from the study door with an expressionless 

The butler made his way to the servants' 
quarters and roused the two footmen. The 
three men went down by the back stairs 
and crept cautiously to the gun-room, where 
they armed themselves. Each carrying a 
gun, they stole up the hall in a little group. 

There was no sign of the gorilla. They 
went into the billiard-room. The cage was 
empty and its door was open. Then Howard 
led the way into the study. 

On turning up the lights they found their 
master lolling in the chair by the writing- 
table. His neck was broken. 

The keepers and grooms were roused and 
a search for the gorilla with dogs commenced. 
A broken window in the drawing-room showed 
which way the animal had escaped, and the 
dogs were soon on its trail. The head keeper 
was the first to catch sight of the beast, 
running swiftly along the crest of a low hill, 
its great frame clearly outlined against the 
starry sky. He fired, and the gorilla 
staggered. Others came up and fired, and 
the ape was seen to drop and lie still. 

They approached it cautiously. It lay 
in a heap on the grass, a big black mass in 
the moonlight. The head keeper stirred it 
with the butt of his gun, but the beast did 
not move. It was dead. They crowded 
round it. 

It was the head keeper who first drew the 
attention of the others to the fact that the 
animal's arms had a curious feel about them. 
The muscles seemed inelastic and strangely 
lumpy. Then someone tried to force the 
beast's jaws open and failed. A lantern 
was brought, and a piece of wood wedged 
between the jaws. They opened suddenly 
with a tearing sound, and pieces of broken 
wire were seen glinting in the light. 

A gasp of astonishment went round, for 
the whole head of the beast fell back and 
they saw before them the face of a man, 
white and ghastly, with closed eyes and an 
expression of strange agony and dismay on 
his features. Across the left side of the fore- 
head ran a long white scar. 

It was in this manner that Charles Hobray 
replied to Hall's advertisement. 

Original from 





XDOUBTEDLY the longest 
hole ever played at golf is 
one measuring a distance of 
no less than twenty-six miles 
in a bee-line and thirty-five 
in actual play, the tee being 
at Linton Park, near Maid- 
stone, and the putting-green at Littlcstone- 
on-Sea + The writer of this article was one 
of the players in this unique performance. 

A party of golfers who resided in the neigh- 
bourhood of Maidstone were returning from 
Lit tie stone , where they had been spending 
the day on the famous links. While waiting 
for a train at Ap pled ore Junction a conversa- 
tion took place respecting freak golf matches, 
and the question arose as to how many strokes 
would be needed by two men playing alter- 
nately to cover the distance between Maid- 
stone and Littlestone, One of the party 
suggested that about two thousand would be 
a fair number, whereupon a popular sporting 
parson replied that he was prepared to lay a 
wager of five pounds that none of those present 
could do it in that number, With very little 
time for consideration the bet was accepted 
by two members of the party, and arrange- 
ments for this extraordinary match were 
settled in less than five minutes. 

The only stipulations made by the layer of 
the wager were that the match should take 
place within three months, that the ordinary 
rules of golf should be observed* and that, as 
he was not prepared to journey on foot for 
so long a distance, an umpire should be 
appointed to keep the score* A well-known 
Cambridge undergraduate kindly offered to 
undertake this office, though had he known the 
large amount of monotonous work attached 
to it, it is very doubtful if he would have 
accepted. It was decided to take two or 

by Google 


three of each of the following clubs — brassie, 
cleek, and niblick, with one driving-iron and 
about half a gallon of old balls which were 
newly painted and carried in a bag, 

The start was made in the early morning 
of a beautiful day in spring from the north 
gate of Linton Park, about three miles south 
of Maidstone, Mr, F, S. W, Cornwallis, the 
popular squire of Linton, having kindly 
given us permission to make the first part 
of our journey through his lovely park, 
The beginning was not propitious; the 
carriage-dri% T e, beside which our first and 
only tee was made, is of snake-like form, 
its sinuous windings extending for some 
two or three hundred yards, and the first 
drive with a brassie landed our ball in a 
rhododendron-bush, out of which we dropped 
with a penalty. The third shot was a repe- 
tition of the first, so it was thought better to 
use a cleek, which we did until the cricket- 
ground was reached, where the brassie again 
came into play. Frequent stymies by trees 
marred our progress through the lower part 
of the park, until a niblick shot carried us over 
the high wooden fence at the bottom into the 
pastures beyond. We had taken far too many 
strokes for this short distance, but now we 
were able to use our brassie more frequently, 
though rough grass often spoilt the length of 
our shots. Hedges frequently caught the ball 
and necessitated dropping, with the con- 
sequent loss of strokes. At the sixty-fifth 
shot the River Beult was reached, and our 
ball promptly disappeared in it and was lost. 
Another which we dropped found its way 
into a backwater, but was retrieved. 

At 11.25 we rcac hed Hertsfield Bridge with 

a good brassie shot (No. 97) that carried both 

the river and road. Long grass and rushes 

here caused the niblick to be used freely* 

Original from 




Bletchenden on our left, crossed 
a wheatfield, and then pitched 
into a narrow road near Ayles- 
wade Farm, whence we took a 
line for the main Tenterden road, 
which we reached at the 285th 
stroke, having just previously 
driven into a brickyard, the ball 
resting against a chicken - coop. 
Once in the road, which was 
running in the right direction, we 

NEAR M A ! I '"■ I ' ' N 1 ■ 

Leaving Dun- 
bury Farm on 
the left, we still 
kept to the pas- 
ture land , the 
principal hazards 
being hedges and 
ditches, Hawk- 
enbtiry Bridge 
was reached soon 
after midday* 
and No. 15S was 
driven on to the 
railway at the 
spot where many 
years ago a dis- 
astrous accident 
happened to the 
hoat- express in 
which Charles 
Dickens was a 

In playing off 
the railway the 
ball hit a post 
and came back, 
but with a niblick 

we landed into the meadow on the north side, 
i-a-^ing though some swampy ground, we 
followed the river till we reached Kelsham 
Farm, where we crossed at the 201st stroke, 
reaching Frit tendon Road Bridge, and had 
to drop twice owing to the ball finding hedges. 

No. 213 brought us to Headcorn at 2.30. 
Hero we stuck a stump into the ground to mark 
the last stroke and retired to the village inn 
for luncheon. On our return we found that 
our caddie had mysteriously disappeared. 
Stroke 214 was made at 3.30, and our progres 
was fairly rapid, varied by an occasional lost 
ball in a hedge or long grass. We passed 

■ ~*> 





endeavoured to keep along it with the 
cleek, but soon found this impossible, as any- 
thing but a short putting stroke found the 
ditches on either side. 

From one of these we pitched on to a heap 
of stones, and from them into a thick willow- 
bush. Hereabouts we found much trouble, 
but soon got going again and, beyond hitting 
two stiles and finding several ditches, met with 
no noteworthy adventures, We now rearhed 
a more thickly-wooded country, and frequently 
hit trees, the ball sometimes cannoning off 
to a considerable distance. Fortunately the 
weather had been dry, and the fields, in which 






wheat and oats were growing, had been rolled, 
so that at times we found quite good brassie 
lies even on these- One very rough arable 
field gave us much trouble, and for a time 
a heavy niblick was the favourite club. 

After crossing a road we unfortunately 
pitched into a farm-yard , but got out with 
some trouble into a pasture field, and, as it 
was nearly six o'clock, we inserted a stump 
where the ball lay and stopped for the day 
close to Oampton House Farm, between 
Biddendtm and High Halden. Near here 

our carriage met us ? and we drove home after 
a fair days work of about fourteen miles. 

On Tuesday morning we drove to Crampton 
House j where the owner of the farm greeted 
us very cordially, and our 428th shot, with a 
cleek, was a good one. Then over a hedge into 
a ditch — this kind of thing was repeated 
several times— and a pulled stroke landed us 
into a small wood, but a chopped shot with 
the niblick brought us back into a meadow. 
We drove clean through a thick hedge with a 
brassie, and then, passing over a road, we 


Digitized by^GOQlC 




reached Moat Farm, near which we were for 
the first and only time treated as trespassers. 
Our ball had come to a stop in the middle of a 
small meadow, and «the owner, rushing up, 
asked what we were doing on his premises ! 
Our reply being that we were playing golf, he 
said he must request us to go away as quickly 
as possible. Fortunately a capital brassie 
shot into a rough wheat-field took us on to 
another farm, and peace was restored. Here 
our caddie gave us some trouble, as he had 
evidently an old quarrel to settle with some 
other lad of his own age ; and we had to dismiss 
him and engage another, 

A strong cross-wind made the going very 
tiring. We lost a stroke by moving the ball 
when addressing it, and then came to a high 
fence, which we hit five times before going 
through. Many troubles were now encoun- 
tered, A sliced ball pitched into a hop- 

losing a stroke. In one small, rough arable 
field we took no fewer than seven strokes, 
crossed the Tenterden and Woodchurch road, 
and, with stroke No, 561 passing Pigeon Hoo 
Farm, wc entered Shirley Moor, Here, with 
the exception of losing a ball now and then in 
the network of broad ditches or in clumps 
of rushes, the going was good, and the brassie 
was brought into frequent use* Our progress 
was slow f however , owing to the dykes con- 
taining water, which were too wide to jump, 
and we frequently had to retrace our steps 
for several hundred yards in order to find the 
gateways, Consequently, instead of reaching 
Appledore at 2.30 as we intended , it was 
4.25 when, after losing a ball in the military 
canal, we put down a peg and retired to the 
village inn for a somewhat belated luncheon- 
After changing caddies, the first shot (No. 
715) after refreshments was into a ditch, and 


garden in which the poles were standing. 
They were too close together to allow of a 
proper swing, and the ground was rough, so 
several strokes were wasted. We were, 
however, only out of the frying-pan into the 
fire, for a niblick shot landed our ball into a 
wood, but fortunately close to the outside, a 
good recovery being made with the next shot. 
We then passed close to St + Michael's Church 
and Harbourne House, and found some good 
hru*sie lies in a large field of oats which had 
been quite recently rolled, As we could 
see more woods ahead, we decided to bear 
to the left and make for Ingledon Park, which 
was reached with a good brassie .shot that 
carried the park fence, and, as this was the 
500th shot, we took an interval for refresh- 
ments, On resuming, several trees were hit, 
but the going was good. Then our course 
took us over small, rough fields and into a 
lump of poles, where we had to lift and drop. 

Digitized by V^OOQ lC 

718 into the canal ; but the umpire's un- 
pleasant remarks about the effect of the 
luncheon were treated with contempt. After 
much trouble with rushes and ditches we got 
on to the road, and promptly hit a house 3 
the ball rebounding into the road. We then 
decided to make for Appledore Station, and 
on arriving there the hall hit the Railway 
Hotel at the 785th stroke. Here we took 
tea at 5.50, and then putted over the railway- 
crossing, having first hit the gate and bounced 
on to the rails. As we were *vell within our 
number of strokes wc kept to the road for 
some distance, and then struck off to the right 
through oats ? beans, and pasture. No, 842 
was lost in a wide dyke, and, as 844 shared 
the same fate, we decided to halt for the night, 
as the dyke was too wide to jump. Having 
driven our peg, we started to ualk to Brook- 
land Station, and fortunately caught a train 
to Lyddj where we spent the second night. 






On Wednesday morning we took train to 
Brookland und walked to Snargate, near 
whkh was our starting-point, and at eight 
o'clock drove over the dyke and then had to 
walk a long distance to u bridge before we 
could cross- This happened many times, as 
the waterways are seldom sufficiently narrow 
to jump. At the 915th stroke we reached 
Krenzett, after crossing pasture, arable, oats, 
wlient, and so forth. Here a friend offered 
us sloe gin, which was not refused, and it 
greatly assisted our progress, as for some time 
the brassie shots were far and sure. We now 
crossed the main sewer which drains Romney 
Marsh ; twice our ball hit a sheep 5 and we 
were frequently in small ditches, but could 
generally play out. After passing the quaint 
little church of New Romney, we found many 
rushes and reeds, 
and strokes were 

At the 1 ,000th 
stroke the ball hit 
a tree and re- 
bounded. We then 
made our way 
twice over the 
main sewer and 
through rough 
pasture, while the 
wooden fences, 
which are numer- 
ous, were f r e- 
quently hit. After 
passing the ruins 
of Hope Chapel 
and leaving New 
Romney, with its 
grand old Norman 
church, on our 
right, we took a. 
bee-line for the ia \ ckstk 

Digitized by Lit 

lofty water-tower at Lit ties tone, and soon got 
among the sand-hills unci rabbit-holes, in one 
of which we lost a ball. 

The end was now near, as it had been 
arranged that we should hole out on the first 
green of the celebrated links. A good mas hit.* 
shot landed us on it, a putt rested within four 
feet of the hole, and with the 1,087th stroke 
we holed out at 1138 on the third day* 

We were, as may be supposed, very tired, 
and for several days disinclined for exertion. 
Short mashie shots and putts would have beeii 
restful ; but, as it was necessary to get as far 
as possible with each stroke, they did not come 
into use, and consequently it was a prolonged 
strain on the arms, hands, and wrists* Caddies 
were a difficulty, and we had six or seven , 
each one after going a few miles wanting to 

return , as he was 
afraid of getting 

With the aid 
of a compass and 
some knowledge 
of the district we 
kept a good 
course, but it 
can readily be 
understood that 
we had to make 
a very large 
number of small 
d flours to avoid 
woods, h o p - 
gardens, arable 
land, marshes, 
and so forth. 
The fact that 
the weather for 
some weeks 
previously had 
ov KOMMiv M,\HiH. been fine was 





* ruuraiorm 

i Linton JFhtA 

In all seventeen balls were lost and sixty- 
two dropped and strokes lost, Several of the 
daily papers made amusing remarks respect- 
ing the match. One correspondent said " it 
reminded him of those semi-legendary runs 
of the old Welsh hounds in the days when we 
are told that they used to run a fox the whole 
of one day, then turn in for the night at the 
nearest farm-house, and take up the running 
again with the dawn ol the next day." 

7b London. 




our salvation, as the corn-fields, having so 
recently been rolled, were smooth. This 
saved us many hundreds of strokes, as 
the brassie and cleek could U umi! with 
advantage, whereas in cases where this had 
not been done the niblick was the only club 
that could be taken. 



Joking apart, however, the 
game proved not only novel, 
but of extremely varied interest, 
much more so than is obtain- 
able on any ordinary golf-links, 
and may be highly recommended 
to any golfer who would like a 
new experience. We should very 
much like to see a match be- 
tween champion players of forty 
miles across country, and we 
think the whole golfing world 
would note with interest the 
way in which they acquitted 
themselves in the trying cir- 
cumstances of Marathon golf, 

[Photographs by De'Ath and 
Dunk, Maidstone J 


Three Helio s 

BgjTalbotMundy &^^^ 


T was on a bench in Trafalgar 
Square that Robert Furleigh 
sat one bitter February morn- 
ing. He was wedged in tightly 
between five other men, 
shabbier even and dirtier 
than he was ; and he stared 
disconsolately at his unblacked boots, and 
tried to forget the hunger that was gnawing 
at his stomach. 

Ten paces from him was a man in uniform, 
who wore a little bunch of ribbons in his cap. 
He was spotless and unrumpled as a new- 
struck silver coin. Five medals hung in a 
row on his left breast, and lie possessed the 
balance and self-reliance that nothing save 
work well done can give a man. He stroked 
his moustache and faced St. Martin's Church 
without any apparent interest, and nobody, 
judging from a first glance at him, would have 
supposed that he was there on business. 
But this was one of the feeders of Britain's 
firing-line, and sideways, from the corner of 
his eye, he was watching Furleigh. 

" Raw as a piece of steak,' 1 he muttered 
to himself, " Now, I wonder what brought 
him down in the world, Hit the bottom 
about a week ago, I should say ; his boots 
haven't been blacked for four or five days, 
but they're good ones, clothes are well-cut, 
and they fit him. Blood on his collar, and 
the tail end of a black eye about a week old. 
Um-m-m ! Was it debts, I wonder, or a 
woman ? Both, probably. Anyhow, I think 
hell do; and he's ripe." 

The derelict got up from the seat and 
craned his neck to look above the crowd, 
and the moment that he rose another derelict 
slipped into his place behind him. This new- 
comer was a bull-necked brute of a man, 
strong by the look of him, but he had the sly 
leer and the sneer on his face of the unsuccess- 


ful criminal. Whatever it was that Furleigh 
looked for he was disappointed, for he turned 
to sit down again with an air of even greater 
despondence on his face, and the man who 
had stolen his seat looked up and laughed 
at him, and his lips moved in some sneering 
insult. Quick as a flash Furleigh *s hand 
shot out and seized the brute's collar ; there 
was a short struggle, a blow 3 a blasphemous 
oath, and the man who had no right to the 
seat went over behind it backward. 

41 Good ! " said the recruiting -sergeant, 
still watching from his point of vantage, 
"I'd an idea that fellow hadn't dropped 
through the bottom yet. He's got more 
spirit left than I thought, even. Pretty 
nearly six feet, and over forty round the 
chest. Hell do." 

He started to stroll back again, quite 
casually, but this time he came to a stop 
directly in front of Furleigh and faced hirn, 
and stared at him deliberately. He stared 
him out of countenance, and Furleigh's eyes 
dropped ; he felt in his pockets nervously 
for cigarettes, and finding none, looked 
down at his boots again. Instantly the 
recruiting- sergeant produced a packet, and 
held it out towards him 

" Hands soft as a woman's,'* he thought, 
as his quarry reached out eagerly and took 
one, At He'll mould all right , this one 
will, but he'll suffer. Here, take the lot, 
won't you ? " he said, tossing him the 

His quarry thanked him and blew smoke 
luxuriously through his nose. He seemed to 
think that the incident was closed, for he 
once more dropped his eyes and sank his 
chin on to his chest and lapsed into discon- 
solate reverie. But the sergeant had not 
finished with him, 

" You're looking glum/' he said, suddenly. 





" Everything," said the outcast, looking 
up, and then standing up. 

The sergeant stepped back a pare. His 
uniform was immaculately clean, and this 
sorry-looking stranger was not* 

" The world seems pretty good to me " 
he said, pushing his chest out like a pouter 

"If you were as hungrv as I am/* said 
Furleigh, " you'd think otherwise." 

" Cold morning given you an appetite, 
eh ? So it has rne," 

"Well, then, go and eat, and be hanged to 
you. Don't stand here and talk to me about 
it, or I shall go mad." 

" Come along. Come and eat with me. 
I'll buy you a breakfast." 

Every other occupant of that bench pricked 
up his ears- Two of the men smiled cunningly, 
one swore savagely under his breath, and the 
other two looked from Furleigh to the sergeant 


and back again, and nodded knowingly. 
But there was nothing but quite innocent 
amazement in Furleigh's voice, 

£ * That's very decent of you, sergeant/' he 
said, in accents that were foreign to the 

As they walked side by side towards the 
little eating-house, tucked away in a quiet 
corner not far from St. Martin's Church, 
Furleigh glanced nervously from side 
to side. The sergeant looked up at him 

" Seem a little strange to be going to 
breakfast with a non-com, ? " he asked, 

u Just a little," answered Furleigh, and 
the sergeant nodded. 

In spite of his vaunted appetite, the ser- 
geant ate little. He sat and watched his 
man and said nothing, waiting with an art 
that was learned in war for the psychological 
moment in which to strikft 




" Have you had enough ? " asked the ser- 
geant, at last. 

" Plenty, thanks/' said Furleigh. 

" Enough of wandering the streets, I 
mean ? " 

" Yes. I've had more than enough of 

" Then why do it ? " 

Furleigh stared at him. It seemed like 
the question of a madman. 

" I've been trying hard to get up again 
ever since I " 

" You've been trying in the wrong way, 
then. Look at me. I was down and out 
once, and I wasted a lot of time wandering 
about asking folks to help me. Some of 
'em did, a little ; but most didn't. So I did 
what I thought was worse than suicide ; 
I went off and enlisted. Look at me now. 
I've money in the bank, and a good coat to 
my back, and three square meals a day, 
and I shall have a pension when I'm through. 
I've seen quite a little of the world, too, 
and had a corking good time of it." Furleigh 
was silent now, staring down at the table 
in front of him. The sergeant tried another 
line of argument. "There's nobody can 
accuse me of being anything but what I am, 
either," he asserted. " I've a record of 
twenty years' service behind me, every day 
of it accounted for, and that's more than 
most can say. When a man's down and 
out, anybody can call him a rotter, and 
he can't disprove it as a rule." 

Furleigh winced. 

" Unless he's been in the army for a spell. 
Then he can push his written record under 
the nose of anyone that accuses him ! " 

Furleigh still said nothing ; he still stared 
at the dirty tablecloth, with his hands deep 
down in his empty pockets and a look of 
indecision on his face. But the sergeant 
had not yet exhausted his list of lures. 

" Nobody knows who I was before I 
joined," he said, darkly, as though he were 
hiding some thrilling secret. " I gave my 
real name, because it's against the law ndt 
to, and I wasn't taking any chances." 

Furleigh seemed interested now. 

" Is that a fact ? Can't a man enlist under 
an assumed name ? " 

" Some of 'em do, but it's against the 
regulations, and there's apt to be trouble if 
it's ever discovered. What's your name, 
now ? " 

|] Furleigh." 

" I know half-a-dozen men of your name ! " 
lied the sergeant, promptly. " There's one 
in the First Life Guards, one in the Middlesex, 

one in the D. L. I. Why, I must know a 
dozen of them ! " 

" Come along, then," said Furleigh. " I'll 

" And you'll be glad of it," the sergeant 

An hour or two later Furleigh had been 
taken before a magistrate, and had kissed 
the Book, and had sworn to serve Her 
Majesty the Queen and obey her officers in 
Great Britain, or abroad, or in the Dominions 
beyond the seas, without question — loyally 
— and to the death. 

" Now listen," said the recruiting-sergeant, 
when the oath was taken and they were out on 
the street again. " You've been a gentle- 
man. Forget it ! You've given orders all 
your life instead of taking 'em. Forget it ! 
You're a new boy in a new school now ! And 
don't you forget that ! Be civil, obey orders 
at the jump, grin when you don't like a thing, 
keep your fists behind you and your tongue in 
your head, and let the canteen alone ; then 
you'll be all right." 



It was all very well for the recruiting-ser- 
geant to give advice to Robert Furleigh. The 
advice was good, tpjt he found that following 
it meant remoulding a life-long point of view. 
He was housed in a barrack-room with nine- 
teen other men any one of whom would have 
blacked his boots a month ago and have been 
proud to do it ; and the temptation to secure 
their respect by hinting darkly at influence 
and relations high up in the service was too 
insistent to be withstood. So at the very start 
he fell the way that all fools fall, and derision 
and abuse met him whichever way he turned. 
He found himself dubbed a " ranker." 

In the end, to get away from his com- 
rades' roasting, he took a signalling course, 
and there his education helped him. The 
Morse Code that was a thing of mystery to 
most recruits was almost like an open book 
to him. But he had already broken every 
single rule of conduct that the recruiting- 
sergeant had laid down for him. He had made 
the amazing discovery that cads can use their 
fists, and he had fought half of the first-year 
men in the regiment, and been licked by most 
of them. Those that had got the better of 
him bullied him on the strength of it, and the 
men that he had licked were training and 
hardening their muscles with the laudable 
desire of one day getting even. He had no 

Even among the signallers he was unpopu* 
lar, so ©ftcFC-ficiency with the heliograph 




stood him in very little stead. Officers are 
chary of recommending for promotion a man 
who has earned the whole-hearted contempt 
of two-thirds of the regiment and the hatred 
of the rest. Furleigh remained a private, 
while younger men than he, who had been 
bred in the slums of London, and whose 
education began and ended with the three 
R's, rose to be lance-corporals — and gave him 
orders and abuse. 

The iron of it sank deep into his soul, and 
he grew worse tempered than he had ever 
been, and sulky and morose. Also — and that 
was the last and the most important of the 
recruiting-sergeant's rules — he took to drink ; 
the canteen got his pay and what was left of 
his self-respect. The cells were the next 
acquaintance that he made. Every pay-day, 
almost, found him sentenced to them for 
" drunk and resisting the guard," or " drunk 
and disorderly," or just plain, ordinary drunk. 
It was in the cells that light dawned on him 
in the shape of Copeland, newly joined. 

Second-lieutenant Copeland looked through 
the iron-barred window of the cell, and recog- 
nition was mutual and instant. Fifteen 
minutes later the cell door opened to admit 
Copeland, and the sentry marched away to 
the end of the flagged promenade in front, 
and stood there out of ear-shot. 

" Are you in under your right name ? " 
asked Copeland. 

" Yes," said Furleigh. 

" Were you after a commission ? " 

" No," said Furleigh. 

" Well, even if you had been, you've lost 
all chance of getting it now, of course ; so 
there's no use in talking about that. Don't 
you think you'd better purchase your dis- 
charge, Furleigh ? Don't you think you 
might do better out of the army ? I'd give 
you the money myself, and give you some- 
thing else besides to start you after you've 

Now, if human nature were not what it is 
known to be — quite inexplicable, and if every 
man had not some different kink in him that 
leads by devious byways to his pride, this 
story might seem incredible. 

44 1 suppose you don't want me in your 
half-company ? " asked Furleigh. 

" Candidly, I don't." 

" Does anybody else know that you've 
recognized me ? " 

" Not a soul." 

" Very well, then ; don't let them. Keep 
it dark, and keep me in your half-company." 

" But look here, Furleigh ! See sense ! 
The thing's impossible ! I can't carry on, 

Vol.xlvi.-5. [jjg 

and say nothing, and let you blackmail me, 
for that's what it will amount to ! " 

" Blackmail you ! You mean little sneak ! 
If I'd wanted to blackmail you, d'you think 
that I'd have not done it before this ? We 
were both of us to blame for that business, 
but I got found out and took the blame, and 
you, you dirty little underhanded trades- 
man's son, you let me take it, didn't you, 
and said nothing ? Now you want to buy 
me out of the army, do you, and get me out 
of sight again, and out of mind ? Try if you 
dare ! Hold your tongue, Copeland, and 
I'll hold mine." 

" But, Furleigh " 

11 That's all ! " said Furleigh. 

" But, you know, I sha'n't be able to do 
you any favours ; I shall have to treat you 
the same as all the rest." 

" If you so much as dare to show me a 
single favour I'll expose you that minute ! " 

44 But " 

Furleigh came one pace nearer, and spoke 
to him through clenched teeth. 

44 1 want you to clearly understand," he 
said, * 4 that what I say now is final. Leave 
the army yourself, if you like ; but don't 
you dare to try to get me out of it, or even to 
get me transferred. And don't you dare to 
let anybody know who I am, or what you 
know about me, or what I know about you. 
And if you elect to stay in the army, don't 
you dare to treat me differently to the rest. 
I'll take no favours of any kind from a little 
cad like you ! " 

That incident did the trick for Furleigh. 
He came out of cells, two days later, a changed 
man, and the canteen saw no more of him. 
He was determined to show Copeland how a 
gentleman behaved under stress of circum- 
stances, and the delight he took in doing it 
gave him something to live for, and changed 
his whole appearance and his point of view 
and his relation to the service. 

He took a keen delight now in every form 
of soldiering ; and because Copeland, who 
had no birth at all to speak of, was making 
himself unpopular by his snobbery among 
his brother officers, Furleigh chose to forget 
his birth and prove that a gentleman can 
survive any form of disaster with credit to 

His eyes never met Copeland's eyes, save 
in the course of duty, and then only as they 
would have met another officer's. He placed 
no difficulties in Copeland's way ; he obeyed 
his orders, and he neither avoided him nor 
got in the way of him. He behaved to him 
exactly as he did to any other officer— that 




is to say, civilly and with all the power of 
prompt obedience he had in him. 

And as the weeks wore by and Furleigh's 
efficiency increased, the regiment began to 
perceive the change in him. Men who had 
scorned him a month ago now shared their 
tobacco with him and slapped him on the 
back ; men who had objected to sleeping in 
the next cot to him now sat on his bed and 
talked to him ; and officers who had cast him 
previously for every conceivable form of 
fatigue, began to watch him now from another 
point of view. Six months later he was made 
lance-corporal. When war broke out and 
the regiment was ordered overseas, he was a 
corporal already. And when the regiment 
reached South Africa and the shifting and 
confusion of campaign had begun, Furleigh 
was sergeant-signaller. Copeland was second 
lieutenant still, and likely to remain one ; 
Furleigh's behaviour had got on his nerves, 
and he was silent and morose and distrusted 
and unpopular. 


A signaller has his full share of all the hard 
work that may be going, and positively no 
glory whatever, at the stage of a war when 
crawling columns are evolving out of chaos 
and the skyline is rendered hazy with the 
dust of manoeuvring brigades. Furleigh sat, 
or stood, and sweated at his helio while every- 
body lost his temper, and nobody knew for 
ten consecutive minutes who was which, nor 
who commanded what, nor what orders were, 
nor why. And during that time he saw little 
or nothing of Second-lieutenant Copeland. 

But all this while Copeland was exercising 
influence ; and because his regiment had no 
use for him, every application that he made 
for a transfer to some other detail was warmly 
seconded by his colonel ; and in the end some- 
body commanding found time to scrawl his 
signature across a piece of paper that sent 
Copeland hurrying to the front. 

Furleigh went too, but for other reasons. 
An order had come down from the fighting- 
line that the most efficient signallers should 
be sent forward immediately ; and the first 
to go was the man who had toiled from day- 
light until dusk ever since he landed, and 
had made himself and proved himself the 
most accurate and quickest signaller at the 
base. The same train took both of them. 
Copeland travelled first-class, in a carriage 
reserved for the use of officers ; he went on 
importunity and influence. Furleigh went 
in an open truck, in among the cartridge- 
boxes, sent forward on his merits. 

Digitized by OOOgle 

Copeland, out on the platform to stretch 
himself at a wayside station, beheld Furleigh 
sprawling in the truck and cursed the sight of 
hum. Furleigh saw him too, but took no 
notice. And then, after an almost inter- 
minable journey, the train disgorged them at 
the front, and once again they lost sight of 
one another for a while. 

They went under fire together the next 
time that they met ; and then the crisis came. 
Copeland commanded a little body of scouts, 
some five-and-twenty of them, who had orders 
to push forward and get in touch with a sup- 
posed-to-be-retreating enemy. And along 
with the outfit marched Sergeant Furleigh, 
smoking his pipe contentedly beside a mule 
that bore the helio. In front were the five- 
and-twenty, spread out like furlong posts 
across the veldt. Fifty paces or more behind 
them, and at an equal distance from either 
end of the extended line, walked Copeland, 
and behind him, two hundred yards or more, 
came Furleigh. 

They reached a river, where the only ford 
was overlooked by jagged kopjes. There 
the scouts lay down and watched a while. 
Nothing moved on the far side and there 
were no signs of any enemy, so Copeland 
gave an order, and one by one, with their 
rifles held above their heads, the scouts 
crossed over. On the far side they lay down 
in a cluster and waited for their officer. Then 
Furleigh led the mule across, and Copeland 
rode it, cursing because the water wetted 
his legs, for every now and then the mule 
stumbled or put a foot wrong, and he had to 
sit cross-saddle in order to keep his seat. 

When they reached the far side, one of 
the scouts reported having seen a man's 
head on the near horizon. It had bobbed up 
for a second and disappeared again. Only 
one had seen it, but he was positive 
that he had not been mistaken. Copeland 
turned to Furleigh. 

" D'you see that little kopje over there ? 
The one with the hollow on this side of it ? " 

" Yes, sir," said Furleigh. 

" Well, take your helio there, and set it 
up. If the enemy do happen to be in front, 
you'll be under cover and out of their sight. 
I suppose you can signal the rear from 
there ? " 

Furleigh glanced upward at the sun. 

" Yes, sir," he said. 

" Go ahead, then, and stand by in readiness 
to signal." 

Furleigh led off the mule, leading him 
along in the shallow water below the river- 
bank until he had the kopje he was aiming 




for between him and the supposititious 
enemy ; then he made a break for it, and 
reached the hollow behind the kopje at the 

" Brave man ! " said Copeland, with a 
sneer, and one of the five-and-twenty 

The rest glanced from one to the other 
and said nothing ; they were scouts, not 
humorists. Copeland stood up and watched 
the skyline for five minutes through his 
glasses, sweeping it slowly from left to 

" There's nothing there," he said, with 
an air of conviction. " Forward, to that 
kopje in front. We shall get a better view 
from there, and then I'll decide what to do 

" Begging your pardon, sir " said a 

sergeant, a twelve-year, two-medal man. 

" Hold your tongue," commanded Cope- 
land. " I'm in command here." 

The scouts glanced at each other again, 
but they had to obey his order, and they 
advanced in a body across the open to the 

They had nearly reached it when a shot 
rang out — one solitary shot that hit nobody. 
But that shot was a signal. A second later 
came a volley, sudden and sharp and shorn 
off like the sound of one gun firing, and then 
another volley, and another ; then independent 
firing, that rattled for a moment, and grew 
less, and died down into nothing, ending with 
one solitary shot. 

Furleigh, peering round the corner of his 
shelter, could see nothing; he supposed that 
the scouts had taken cover. So he turned to 
his heiio again and got ready to transmit 
the message that Copeland would surely 
send him in a minute or two. But no one 
came back with any order. 

He sent a flash or two, to call the attention 
of the column that was still out of sight 
beyond the skyline to the rear, and after a 
minute he caught the answering flash. 

" Stand by," he signalled. " Information 
coming ! " 

11 Ready ! " came the answer. 

Then, from the corner of his eye, he 
caught another flash, over to the left, beside 
him. A glance over -there showed him 
another helio, manned by a fellow with a 
shaggy beard. It was a Boer helio, and it 
was signalling the British column. Furleigh 
and his instrument were out of sight of the 
enemy, and so was the mule, for a little 
ragged escarpment ran down from the kopje 
that concealed him and formed a wedge- 

shaped screen between him and the Boers. 
He had to stand on tip-toe and peer above 
it in order to see the man who signalled. 
So he drew back his helio a little farther 
towards the kopje and hobbled the mule 
more carefully and watched, trying to read 
the Boer flashes. 

It proved difficult. He could read easily 
enough what the British signallers answered ; 
but they, too, seemed to find it hard to 

" Repeat ! " they kept on signalling. 
" Repeat ! Not understood ! " 

Either the Boer was a beginner at the 
instrument or else his knowledge of English 
was at fault. 

Suddenly Furle ; gh heard a noise behind him, 
to his right, and he turned and saw Cope- 
land creeping towards him on his stomach. 
The moment he reached the little hollow 
in the shelter of the kopje Copeland rose 
to his feet. He was white as a sheet and 
trembling, but there was no sign of a wound 
on him. 

" Quick ! Out of this ! " said Copeland. 
" The Boers are behind that hill, several 
thousands of them. They ambuscaded us. 
Shot down every single man ! " 

" Except you ? " suggested Furleigh. 

But the irony missed ; Copeland was too 

" The Boers have got a helio on that hill," 
said Furleigh, quite calmly. " They're 
signalling the column. I can't read what 
they're saying, but our men don't seem able 
to read it either." 

" Who cares what they're saying ! Loose 
that mule ! Come on, hurry ! I'll ride him, 
and you take hold of the stirrup ! " 

Furleigh loosed the mule. 

" All ready, sir ! " he said. 

There was a pronounced accentuation oh 
the " sir." 

Copeland mounted. 

" Come on ! " he ordered. " Catch hold ; 
hurry up ! " 

" One minute," said Furleigh, still holding 
to the rein. " If you get through, tell 'em 
that that wasn't my helio flashing; d'you 
understand, SIR ? " 

" Let go of that rein, will you, you fool ! " 

The mule milled round and round, for 
Furleigh held it, and Copeland was kicking 
with both of his heels. Officers command- 
ing scouts were armed with rifles like the 
rest, to save them from being picked off by 
the enemy ; Copeland had dropped his rifle, 
and he had no weapon of any kind, but he 
felt for his sword now instinctively. 




Original from 






4 6 


Furleigh laughed at him, and Copeland 
struck out with his fist and missed. 

Once again Furleigh laughed, but he 
loosed the rein, and hit the mule a resound- 
ing wallop with his open palm. In went 
Copeland's heels, and off went the mule at an 
awkward gallop. Furleigh stood where he 
was, with a grim smile on his face, watching. 
He saw that Copeland never once looked 

The mule plunged into the river under 
Copeland's urging, and began to wallow and 
plunge across the ford. It was not until that 
moment that the Boers caught sight of him ; 
then ten men opened fire, and the men who 
were clustered round the helio stopped what 
they were doing to watch. 

The mule was by no means a steady target, 
and he was half-way over before they hit him ; 
he fell then, though, in a heap, head under, 
and Copeland slipped off his back and began 
to wade. Never once looking back, he 
plunged, pushing, wallowing forward, diving 
head and shoulders under for so long as he 
could hold his breath, bobbing up again for 
an instant, to be greeted with a volley that 
spattered round him, and then diving again 
and struggling forward. 

He reached the bank, unhit apparently, 
and he lay low there in the shallow water 
for five minutes. Then Furleigh saw him 
make a spring for it and climb the bank ; a 
long-range volley greeted him the moment 
that he showed himself, and as he reached 
the top he fell forward into the long grass 
and lay there. It was difficult to judge at 
that long distance, but it seemed to Furleigh 
that he had not been hit ; the Boers, though, 
thought otherwise, for they left off firing. 

Furleigh watched for a little while, but 
saw no sign of movement on the far bank, 
so he turned his attention to the signalling 
again. The flashes had resumed, and there 
was another man on the helio now, who 
seemed more of an adept at it. Furleigh 
crawled down towards the river, and lay 
still between two ant-hills ; from that angle 
he could read the flashes better. 

Flick-flick ! went the Boer helio. " General 
Commanding," read Furleigh from where he 
lay, and back came the answering flash : — 

Flick-flick-flick ! " Enemy retired some 
hours ago. Ford easy and undefended. 
Have reconnoitred all positions on far side. 
No signs of enemy except litter along line of 
their retreat." 

" Press forward and report," came back 
the answer. 

From where Furleigh lay he could see the 

heads of more than a thousand Boer marks- 
men, peeping above a ridge to stare at a 
heavy dust-cloud that began to show on the 
far horizon. And from where the dust-cloud 
was there came the angry rumble of an army. 
A lumbering, blundering, bull-plucky British 
column was advancing with its eyes shut into 
planned, marked-out, calculated, ambus- 
caded death ! 

Flick-flick I went the helio. Flash-flash ! 
came the answer. And the Boer heads dis- 
appeared again, and the Boer signallers un- 
shipped their instrument and hid it behind 
the ridge. 

Back crawled Furleigh to his hollow where 
the helio stood. If ever a man faced certain 
death, he did then ; but he faced it laughing. 
When he reached the hollow he drew out his 
pipe and filled and lit it. He was out of sight, 
he knew, and he could take his time about 
beginning ; but once he started he would have 
to hurry, for there were Boers in plenty 
within three hundred yards of him. So he 
smoked for five full minutes, while he thought ; 
there was going to be no room for mistakes. 

Then quietly, and almost casually, he stood 
up behind his instrument, and his fingers 
clutched the key. 

" General Commanding," he signalled, quite 
steadily and without a tremor ; " General 
Commanding " — " General Commanding " — 
"Gen " 

It seemed like an hour to him before the 
answer came ; and there were not even seconds 
to lose ! 

" Last messages false ! " he signalled. 
" Enemy ambuscaded far side of ford in force. 
Scouts surprised and killed. Enemy using 
their helio to draw you into trap. Do you 
understand ? " 

Another hour followed, that was really 
sixty seconds. Then : — 

" Repeat ! " came the answering signal. 

Furleigh heard sounds behind him — nailed 
boots hurrying over rocks, and a gruff com- 
mand in Dutch. The Boers had seen his 
signals ! But he kept his eyes fixed steadily 
on the sky in front of him, and repeated his 
signal word for word. 

" To draw you into a trap," he signalled, 

"Do you under " And a man peered 

over the edge of the kopje behind him and a 
rifle-barrel flashed for a second in the sun- 
light. There came a sharp report and another 
flash — and Furleigh dropped down in a heap 
where he had stood. Another Boer leaned 
over then and put another bullet into him, to 
make quite sure. 

The British column signalled and signalled, 



'furleigh i>koppbi> down in a heap where he had stood, 

but got no answer. The Boers lay low and 
waited, and the cloud of dust drew T nearer. 
But out of it, after a while, there came another 
cloud — a little one, that rose higher and moved 
three times as fast. And three thousand 
yards beyond the ford three batteries of 
horse artillery swung round to u Action 

Shrapnel were the scouts this time jnnnd 
jjrin hdllir that shrieked and sang among the 
kopjes, ricochetting off the rocks and seeking 
out what lay there. Then came a real retreat, 
hurried along by pom-pom shells and maxims 
and very long-range rifle-fire. And after 
that a stretcher picked up Furleigh and bore 

him to the rear. Copeland rose from the 
grass and walked back, and reported to the 
general officer commanding, 

" Who are you ? " asked the general, 

" Copeland, sir. OX\ advanced scou ting- 

" Where is your command ? w 
? "All killed/ sir." 
- " Excepting you, eh ? " 

Copeland said nothing. 

" How did you come to report the crossing 
safe and undefended ? n 

" I did not, sir. The sergeant-signaller did 
that. As I lay among the grass on this side 

of the TOE^^ah^'ft, p R derstand ' l 




saw him standing over there and flashing 

41 Did you at any time give him signals to 
send after you were attacked ? " 

" No, sir, I had no opportunity." 

" How so ? J1 

" Could not get near him, sir." 

" How did you cross the river ? " 

Cope land hesitated. He had no idea who 
hud seen him or who had not, and there 1 
was the dead mule lying in the river for 
damning evidence against him. 

11 I started on the mule ; the enemy shot 
that, and then I swam and waded." 

" And the mule, where did vou get that 
from ? M 

Cope land turned red and hesitated. 

" You may consider yourself under arrest, 
Mr. Copeland/' said the general, slowly and 
deliberately, *' I'll have your conduct in 
this matter investigated at once." 

Copeland saluted and started to walk 
slowly to the rear, trying hard to think of 

some way to save his reputation, and as 
he walked he was recognized by a corporal 
of Yeomanry, who had until lately been 
teller in a London bank- The corporal made 
no sign, and neither did Copeland, but each 
man recognized the other. Copeland con- 
tinued his march to the rear, and the cor- 
poral rode forward to where the general 
stood. There he halted, to the rear of him, 
and waited for further orders. 

Nine stretchers passed, one of them in 
front and the rest all in a cluster behind it. 
The general turned his head. 

" Corporal/' he ordered, " find out who 
are on those stretchers," 

And the corporal dismounted and stopped 
the stretcher-bearers. The first man that he 
looked at, on the stretcher that was in front, 
was Robert Furleigh, and the corporal 
recognized him. He lifted the skirt of his 
open tunic, though, and looked at the name on 
it, to make absolutely sure. 




" Yes, hit in two places. But he's got a 

The corporal reported his discovery, and 
the general changed colour slightly under the 
dark sunburn. He, too, seemed anxious to 
make sure, for he walked up to the stretcher 
and stooped over it. 

" Take this man's deposition the moment 
he regains consciousness," he ordered. " And 
let me have it immediately." 

Then he mounted and rode forward to 
attend to his country's business. His own 
could wait. 


Through the whole of the weary, jolting, 
bumping journey to the base Furleigh lay 
on his back in the ambulance and groaned. 
He had had the good fortune to be hit at 
a time when there were no other wounded 
men to deal with, so the surgeons had had 
time to spare for him. They saved his life, 
but they did nothing to spare his feelings. 
He was to be sent home, they told him, 
on the first home-going troopship, and in all 
likelihood he would be invalided from the 

And what was a man to do, he wondered, 
who knew no trade, and had nobody who 
cared a hang about him, and nothing but a 
few pounds of wound-money to fall back 
upon ? 

He had been a fool, he thought, as usual. 
And fooled by Copeland once again. Why 
hadn't he taken that mule and ridden away, 
as that cad Copeland did ? He cotild have 
left Copeland to his fate then — and serve 
him right ! Why hadn't he ? Because then 
he would have been a cad, like Copeland. 

He thought it over still more on board 
the troopship going home, and in the end 
he began to feel almost satisfied. He had 
been faced with an ugly proposition, and 
he had not hesitated. He had played the 
game. What else mattered ? 

But the long days of convalescence in 
Netley Hospital brought gloom with them 
again. Discha-ge from the army was each 
day twenty-four hours nearer, and London 
loomed big, with the friendless streets and 
the benches, and the hurrying, careless 
crowds again. Nobody visited him. He had 
plenty of time to think. And not one of the 
plans he thought of brought him a single 
gleam of hope. 

Then one day they did bring in a visitor 
to see him, and he turned over on his cot, 
a little wearily, expecting to see a missionary, 

Vol. xlvi.-6. 

by L^OOgle 

or some semi-professional ward-visitor, who 
would bore him with well-intentioned plati- 
tudes. But he gasped and turned even 
whiter than his wound had left him when he 
saw who stood beside his bed. 

" Good morning, Mr. Robert, sir," said 
a well-remembered voice. 

" You, Blades ! Have you left, then ? " 

" No, sir ; I'm still your father's butler." 

" What brought you here ? " 

" Your father's letter, sir, and the first 
train I could catch. He ordered me to 
bring you this by hand." 

The butler handed him an official-looking 
envelope, and Furleigh seized it and tore 
it open with fingers that twitched and 

It was dated from General Headquarters, 
and ran : — 

Dear Bob, — Blades will bring you this, and by 
this same mail he will receive my orders to wait 
on you, and convey you home the moment you are 
well enough to leave the hospital. When I ordered 
you out of the house, it appears that I acted under 
a false impression. You were in the wrong, for you 
put your name on a promissory note in spite of my 
orders, and in spite of your own promise not to do 
so. I had no idea, though, that Mr. Copeland had 
most of the money, that you repaid your share of 
it to him, and that it was he, not you, who failed 
to meet it. I suppose that in my anger I gave you 
no opportunity to explain ; or possibly your own 
misguided sense of honour prevented you. In any 
case, your fault was not so great as I supposed, and 
you have been punished for it quite enough. You 
are welcome home again. 

You will possibly be interested to learn that Mr. 
Copeland has left the army, Her Majesty having 
no further use for his services. The coincidence of 
my receiving your signals direct, coupled with the 
certainty that you could not have known that I was 
with that column, and the opportunity that I had 
to investigate the circumstances on the spot and 
reconstruct what happened from the evidence directly 
afterwards, was a piece of wonderful good fortune. 

I will attend to the matter of your honourable 
discharge from the army, as you will readily under- 
stand that I could not, in all the circumstances, 
possibly recommend you for promotion. What you 
did, however, shall be. considered as having blotted 
out the past. 

Your affectionate father, 

Whittinghame Furleigh, 
General Commanding, Eastern Transvaal. 

" It's all over the county, sir/' said 
Blades. " Your father's written home and 
told pretty near everyone all about it, and 
how you're his heir again. We're all glad, 
sir ! " 

" Gad, Blades ! The old man doesn't do 
things by halves, does he ? " 

" No, sir," said Blades, " he don't. An' 
if you asked me, his son don't either. Seems 
it runs in the family." 

Original from 


C&n y^oxj 

The preatest mystery of the sea is, of course, the case of the Mar if Cr!estr f which has defied all attempts 
at solution for forty years* Nevertheless, some solution there must be, and it has occurred to us to 
reprint the story (from the Nautical Magazine) and to invite eminent writers, who are celebrated for their 
ingenuity in disentangling mysteries, to suggest solutions. We have pleasure in publishing most 
ingenious conjectures by Sir A. Conan Doyle* Mr, Arthur Morrison, Mr* Barry Pain* Mr. Morley Roberts, 
and Mr. Horace Annesley Vachell. It is possible thai the explanation of this strange mystery is really 
quite simple, and if some plausible solution should occur to an v of our readers we shall be very glad to 
hear from them, and to publish and pay for anything we may decide tt> use. 

HAT is the greatest mystery 
of the sea ? Ask any deep- 
water sailor that question, and 
the chances are that he will 
answer — the Marie Celeste. 
Why was she abandoned, and 
what became of her crew ? These are riddles 
which for forty years have been discussed 
without result by the seamen of the world. 
In this tragedy one looks in vain for a clue to 
a natural or supernatural explanation. 

The circumstances in which the brig 
Marie Celeste was found deserted in mid- 
ocean are matters of official record, but that 
only. No trace of any member of the ship s 
company of thirteen souls has ever been 
found* Thirteen, that unlucky number ! 
11 Had that anything to do with it ? " asks 
the superstitiously-inelined sailor. 

To-day t many years after the disaster, we 
know practically no more about it than did 
the skipper who found the deserted ship* 
There is ample room for imagination, for 
from the recorded facts no one has been able 
to construct even a tenable theory, However > 
here are the facts in the case, all that has 
been learned after forty years* 

Why was the brig Marie Celeste abandoned ? 
Not one of the thirteen souls who sailed from 
New York has ever returned to tell how or 
why they fled in haste from the vessel. With 
all her boats intact, and well stocked with 

provisions, the brig was found sailing in the 
Atlantic a day after she was abandoned. 

Early in September. 1872, Captain Ben 
Griggs, a New Englander, stood on an East 
River wharf, in New York, watching the 
loading of the last article for his ship's cabin. 
It was a sewing-machine belonging to his 
wife, for Mrs, Griggs was to go with her 
husband for the voyage on the Marie Celeste, 
of five hundred tons, bound for Genoa. As 
the machine was slung aboard, the captain's 
wife, with their seven-year-old daughter and 
their twelve-year-old son, and accompanied 
by the %essel's owner, appeared on the wharf. 

The boy ran up to Captain Griggs, crying : — 

s * Oh, father, do please take me for a trip as 
well as sister/' 

" Stop there, my lad, not so fast, 1 ' replied 
his father; " youVe been two voyages with 
me, and now it's proper that you stay at 
home so as to attend school/ 1 

li But 1 shall be lonesome without mother 
and sister," replied the boy. 

11 Aye, I dare say you will/' said the old 
man ? thoughtfully. Then, turning to his 
owner , " What do you say, sir, as to the boy 
coming with his mother and sister ? " 

The owner of the ship shook his head, 

'* I belie vej captain, the lad should stick to 
his books." 

That settkdJt- I When the brig hauled off, 

5ofw It? 

jetty beside his father's employer, and he 
wept as though he was broken-hearted, till 
the owner took him to a shop and bought him 
some sweets and toys. In not taking his son 
on that voyage of the Celeste the skipper spared 
the lad — what ? No one can answer that 
question. The weeks passed, two months or 
more. Then suddenly through the State 
Department there came to the owner, from 
the United States Consul at Gibraltar, this 
notice :— 

Gibraltar, January 2nd, 1S73- 
The American brig Marie Celeste, of New York, 
was brought into Miis port by the British barque 
Det Gratia. Marie Celeste picked up on high seas 
on December 5th, abandoned. Brig in perfect con- 
dition, but was taken possession of by Admiralty 
Court as a derelict. Fate of crew unknown, 

The owner of the ill-fated brig at once took 
passage for Gibraltar. Before his departure, 
however, he sent a copy of the letter to 
Captain Griggs's little son, 

" If only father had taken me along with 
htm," the boy said, " we should have been 
together and happy now. For when they 
left me and took mother and sister that made 
the ship's company up to thirteen/' 

At noon on 5th December, 1872, the 
Atlantic, at a point three hundred mi!es due 
west from Gibraltar, was as smooth as a mill- 
pond, and there were three vessels within 
sight of each other. One was a German 
tramp steamer holding a course for the West 
Indies, and crossing the bows of the brig 
about three miles off, The steamer ran up a 
signal that called for an answer from the 
brig. But the brig sent no answer. She was 
silent Then, as if saying to the brig, " Well, 
if you don't want me to speak to you or 
report you, it's all the same to me/' the 
tramp held on her course due south, dropping 
at last over the horizon. 

The third vessel was the British barque 


Dei Gratia. Captain Boyce, bound for 
Gibraltar, Captain Boyce. through his tele- 
scope, had seen the signal displayed by the 
tramp steamer when trying to speak to the 
brig. Abo, he had waited in vain for an 
answering flag from the Marie Celeste, the 
reply demanded by the common code of 
courtesy on the high seas. 

u Queer, jolly impolite, when I come lo 
think of it," was the British skipper's 
comment, and he determined to investigate* 
" A confounded, surly churl of a sea-dog 
who refused to be spoken at sea/* for the 
Briton was not as lacking in curiosity as his 
brother skipper of the steamer seemed to be. 
Taking every advantage of the cat's-paw of 
wind from the southward, Captain Boyce ran 
within hailing distance of the silent brig. 

" There appears to be something amiss with 
that vessel/ 1 he said to his mate. Adams. 

" Aye, sir," replied the mate ; " she should 
by rights have every inch of sail spread. And 
how she yaws, sir. She acts to me, sir, as 
though the crew were all drunk." 

They were now within half a mile of the 
Marie Celeste, and both captain and mate 
were scrutinizing closely the queer actions of 
the brig* the captain through his telescope 
and the mate through binoculars. Suddenly, 
at the same moment, both cried, " Not a 
soul in sight on her decks ! T ' 

" It must be our eyes ; we can't see them, 
but they're there somewhere, of course/' said 
the skipper. 

There was still no response from the 

** Give 'em an urgent hoist, Adams; that'll 
get 'em, surely. 1 ' 

Forthwith the urgent hoist was run up. 
Still no reply. 

Meanwhile, the behaviour of the brig 
became stranger than ever. The wind had 




veered slightly, and the brig's sails were 
flapping in an irresponsible way. 

" The fools," cried the skipper of the 
British ship. " Strange we can't see them. 
What are they hiding for ? But they're 
there, sure enough, 'cause they're bringing 
her about. Hang me, if they ain't trying to 
run away from us ! " 

Captain Boyce now formed a trumpet with 
his hands and shouted, " Brig, ahoy ! " the 
mate joining in the yell, for they were within 
easy hailing distance^ But the mysterious 
brig still failed to answer, and, though all 
hands on the British ship could now examine 
the decks of the brig with the naked eye, not 
a sign of life could they discover. 

"Lower a boat," ordered Captain Boyce. 
" Mr. Adams, we must board that craft. Her 
whole crew is either drunk or murdered, or 

dead of fever, or starved to death, or " He 

turned to look into the mate's eyes. 

" Or they've abandoned the ship, sir," said 
the mate, understandingly. " And yet, never 
that, sir. Why should they abandon her ? 
She's not showing signs of distress, not 

On the calm sea a boat, manned by two 
sailors and carrying both captain and mate 
from the Dei Gratia, pulled towards the strange 
brig. As they drew near they read, on the 
vessel's stern, " Marie Celeste, New York." 

" Celeste, ahoy ! On deck, there," cried 
Boyce, as he came alongside, well forward. 
The only answer was the flapping of the 
somnolent sails aloft. 

" Bless me, if she ain't pretty near all right 
aloft," said the skipper. " It's below the 
wrong is." 

Whereupon he ordered his sailors to stand 
by, while he and the mate boarded the brig, 
climbing up by the chain-plates. 

Then, after one swift glance over the 
bulwarks, the captain said : — 

" All hands must be below, for there's not 
a man in sight, not even a man at the wheel." . 

The two Britons then made their way aft, 
noting the ship's condition as they went. Not 
a thing was missing. Nothing was wanting 
that would be needed by such a vessel at sea. 
She was obviously a first-class craft, freshly 
painted, newly outfitted, spick and span in 
every way. 

But that uncanny silence on such a fine 
ship was something awesome. The two men 
felt their flesh creep. Was the ship deserted ? 
To them the brig seemed a floating graveyard, 
a ghost ship, the kind of phantom craft they 
had read about. From stem to stern, in 
cabin and forecastle, the two men searched, 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

but not a human being, dead or alive, could 
they find. 

" Mutiny ! " exclaimed the skipper. 
" Master and mate have been thrown over- 
board. But where are the mutineers ? 
Why this game of hide-and-seek ? " 

After a second examination of every part of 
the mysterious brig the mariners returned to 
the cabin. 

" Well, it hasn't been mutiny, sir," said 
the mate ; " there's no sign of a struggle." 

"Nor was it piracy," said the captain; 
" the money-box has not been disturbed, 
and the cargo's valuable, but not touched, 
and there's no indication of any violence." 

" Nor starvation, sir, with fever and all 
hands going loony and jumping over the side, 
because there's tons of grub, and the medicine- 
chest ain't been used to any account." 

" And there was no storm, Adams, nor 
waterspout, nor tidal wave to wash 'em 
overboard. The log shows nothing since 
leaving Sandy Hook." . 

" Well, then, sir, if it weren't mutineers, 
nor pirates, nor storm, nor wreck, nor leak, 
nor famine, nor sickness, what could it have 
been, sir, except a sea-serpent sticking his 
snout aboard and swallowing 'em one by 
one ? " 

" They abandoned ship, Adams, that's 
plain," said the skipper, ignoring the sea- 
serpent theory. 

" Yes, sir, they've left the ship ; but 
why ? " 

" Why ? It's most extraordinary, you 
know. They were not forced off, that's easy 
to see. They went willingly, and they had 
not made any preparations to go, that's 
certain. They didn't know they were going 
till the very moment they went. They went 
all in a most unaccountable hurry, because 
they left the ship in the middle of their 
breakfast. And they didn't take a stitch of 
clothing with 'em except what they had on 
their backs. Hang it ! They took nothing 
but the ship's chronometer. Why the 
chronometer ? We can't find the chro- 
nometer, can we ? And I firmly believe 
they took the ship's papers, too ; at least 
we haven't found the papers, though they 
may be locked in some drawer we've failed 
to open." 

" That's straight, sir ; they abandoned 
ship with nothing but the chronometer, and, 
possibly, the ship's papers. But why did 
they quit a ship that's as sound as the day 
she was launched ? We've tried the pumps, 
and there's not an unnecessary drop of water 
in the old hooker The ship's just perfect in 




!sAU\ 'AM 





every particular* Halloa ! 
Here's blood ? H The mate 
had drawn a rutlass from 
a scabbard that hung on 
the cabin wall. He pointed 
to spots on the blade, 
" Blood, sir, yet why did 
the man that used the cut- 
lass take the trouble to 
put it back in its sheath ? 
And " — looking at the 
woodwork of the cabin 
round about the scabbard 
— " see these marks ; more 
blood. Piracy, sir, that's 
it. There's a Captain Kidd 
in this job, and he's made 
'em all walk the plank," 

( * Pirates, Adams ; yes ! 
But, then, there's the valu- 
ables — the two watches in the 
mate's room, and the lady's rings 
and other jewels, and the full 
money- chest." 

' Well, captain, anyway she is 
our prize." 

'Aye, Adams; but what I 
can't make out is, how did 
they leave the ship ? Not in 
their own boats, eh ? " 

' No, sir ; because the boat that 
would be carried by a craft like 
this is here present and accounted 
[.. r." 

4 Well, then, Adams, they got 
away in a boat belonging to 
another vessel/ ' 

' How else could they get 
away, sir ? " 

' So, all weVe got to do, Mr. 
Adams, is to tow her into Gibral- 
tar, and try and find out why 
this A i craft was abandoned 
by her people*" 

The reader may wish to try 
and unravel this hard nautical 
knot for himself. Therefore, here 
an: further details of the examina- 
tion made by the two British 
sailors on the abandoned ship 
Marie Celeste. 

First, it was clear that the 
abandonment of the vessel was 
nut due in any way to a storm 
or even bad weather, 

" Look at the sewing- machine." 
^aid the skipper, as he and the 
mate discussed the situation in 


brie s 



There's been 



a woman here — probably the captain's wife 
— and she was using that machine not long 
before she went wherever she went. Note 
this thimble lying on its side on a corner of 
the machine. There could have been no 
storm at the time the woman separated from 
the ship, for any kind of sea-roll would have 
caused the cotton to tumble off the machine/ 1 
" There's been a child here, too, sir/* put 
in the mate. " It was a girl, for the thing the 


J OR EVER.' 1 

woman was sewing on the ^machine appears to 
me like a pinafore. The child was possibly 
t he sk i pper ' s k i dd i e , An d th e woman st opped 
sewing in the middle of stitching a sleeve to 
leave the ship, however she left it,' 1 

" No, she didn't/' said the captain. " She 
stopped sewing to get her breakfast/' And 
the captain pointed to the table, the 
appearance of which showed that four persons 
had risen from a half-eaten meal to leave the 

by LiOOgle 

cabin for ever. The four at table were 
accounted for as the captain, his wife and 
little girl, and the mate* That the meal was 
breakfast was indicated by the nature of the 
food — oat meal ? coffee, bacon , and eggs. The 
child had almost finished her porridge. At 
the captain's place at the table lay the two 
halves of a hard-boiled egg in the shell. It 
was evident that the moment he broke the 
shell he left the cabin never to return. 
At another place at the table 
— probably his wife*s — stood a 
bottle filled with a popular 
brand of cough medicine. It 
looked as if the woman's last 
act aboard the brig had been 
to remove the cork from the 
bottle, for the cork lay on the 
cloth ; and, as an evidence there 
had been nothing but a cahn 
sea since the ship w r as deserted, 
the narrow tall bottle stood 
upright close to the edge of the 
table, not a drop of the medicine 
having escaped from the bottle. 
In the forecastle , too, pans on 
the stove contained a breakfast 
ready cooked, showing that the 
sailors were about to gather for 
the morning meal when they 
went over the side instead. 

Second, as already stated, 
there was a dearth of evidence 
of mutiny or piracy. No sign 
of any kind indicated violence 
or a struggle. Moreover, the 
money- chest was found to have 
its contents presumably intact. 
Third, how long had the vessel 
been deserted ? The log replied 
to this question, but whether 
truthfully or not there was no 
way of knowing. The last entry 
in the log was made forty odd 
hours before the Marie Celeste 
was sighted by the Dei Gratia. 
There was no mention of storm. 
The log was found in the mate's 
room. The entry made at seven 
o'clock on the morning of September 2nd, 
1872, merely gave the latitude and longitude. 
Fourth there was no sign of any intention to 
leave the ship. That the sailors had no expec* 
tation of abandoning ship, but that, on the 
contrary, all hands left in a great hurry on 
the spur of the moment, was shown by the 
fact that they had washed their underclothing 
before breakfast on the morning of the 
desertion, for, on looking around. Captain 




Boyce and his mate beheld the sailors' clothes 
hanging on a line over the forecastle. In the 
mate's room lay a paper containing an un- 
finished sum in addition. When the mate 
was summoned to leave the ship was he 
eating breakfast or was he doing this sum ? 

Fifth, while the binnacle and compasses of 
the vessel were found, the chronometer was 
missing. Absolutely not another thing— so 
far as the two men could see — was missing 
from the brig except, possibly, the ship's 
papers. The sailors had not even stopped 
to take their pipes or tobacco. 

Sixth, and strongest of all, the boat 
belonging to the Celeste was in its place. How, 
then, could the crew of thirteen have left the 
ship except by boats from another vessel ? 
Seventh: "What I want to know," said 
the skipper, as he towed his prize to 
Gibraltar, " is how is it a mother and child 
would leave a good ship in mid-ocean with- 
out taking even the child's nighties ? " 

For the rest, the official data bearing on 
the mystery are very meagre. In the archives 
of the Department of State are the 
following : — 

Document 136, from U.S. Consul Johnson, dated 
Gibraltar, January 7th, 1873, "Result of analysis 
adverse to blood existing on sword and woodwork 
belonging to the brig Marie Celeste" 

Document 137, from the same, dated January 20th, 
1873, " Principal owner of brig Marie Celeste arrived 
from New York to claim brig from Admiralty Court. 
Nothing heard of missing crew. Chronometer and 
ship's papers not to be found on board the brig." 

Document 138, " Brig Marie Celeste restored to her 
original owner February 12th, 1873." 

Document 139, " Brig Marie Celeste cleared for 
Naples under command of Captain John Hutchins, 
sent out by owner from New York for the purpose. 
Forwarded to Mrs. Bilson, of New York, effects of 
Henry Bilson, missing mate of brig Marie Celeste. 
The brig's last voyage." 

And, meantime, though the representatives 
of the United States in all the ports of the 
world had been instructed to watch for the 
missing crew, not a single vessel anywhere 
reported picking up the Celeste's thirteen. 

To-day the mystery of that ill-fated craft 
is as dark as ever, for forty years have 
passed without a word as to why or how 
the thirteen, headed by Captain Griggs, 
abandoned a perfectly sound vessel. 

With these facts as a foundation, Sir 
Arthur Conan Doyle published a story in one 
of the magazines entitled, " J. Habakkuk 
Jephson's Statements." It was supposed to 
be the narrative of the sole survivor of the 
Marie Celeste's tragic voyage of 1872. So 
successful was he in giving an air of truth to 
his story that the account was reprinted in 

J iO< 


the Boston Herald in 1885 as the actual 
explanation of the mystery. The main 
features of the yarn are worth repeating as 
an example of what might have happened. 

J. Habakkuk Jephson, according to the yarn, was 
a doctor in bad health who took passage in the Marie 
Celeste for the sake of the sea trip. There were two 
other passengers, John Harton, a representative of 
the owners, and Septimus Goring, a quadroon from 
New Orleans. Goring, it seems, was anything but 
an attractive companion, but no one had anything 
definite to charge him with. Two of the crew had 
disappeared at the final moment, and their places 
had been taken by two negroes. With these men 
Goring appeared to have much to do. About ten days 
out from New York, the Captain's wife and child 
vanished. The next day the captain was found dead, 
and as there was a pistol by his hand, Goring declared 
he had committed suicide from grief. About two 
weeks after this, Jephson showed to Goring, in the 
course of a conversation, a stone shaped like a human 
ear which an old negro woman had bequeathed to 
him, saying that she had no other friend to whom to 
give it and that he had always been kind to her. To 
her, at any rate, it always appeared to be of great 
value. This was also the opinion of tjie negro at the 
wheel when he chanced to see it, for he almost wor- 
shipped it. Jephson was much surprised at all this 
fuss about a stone, but he was still more astonished 
when they sighted land and found it to be not Portugal 
but the coast of Africa. The mate, who had been in 
charge of the vessel since the captain's death, was 
intensely mortified at the reflection upon his seaman- 
ship. He insisted that his instruments had been 
tampered with, but he was not permitted to learn 
whether they had been or not. That night a gang 
of negroes put out from the shore, overcame the whites 
on the brig, and murdered all but Jephson ; him they 
saved because he had the ear-shaped stone. They 
all went ashore in their native canoes, and this accounts 
for all the Marie Celeste's boats being found intact in 
their places — one of the most mysterious features 
in the whole mysterious case. Once on land, Jephson 
went through some strange adventures which have 
nothing to do with the Marie Celeste 9 and was finally 
aided by Goring to escape. Goring had devoted 
himself to private warfare on the white race. He had 
planned the wholesale murder of the ship's company, 
shot the captain, and pushed the woman and child 
overboard— all this principally for the fun of it. By 
skilful tinkering with the nautical instruments, he 
had succeeded in sailing the brig to a point off the 
coast of Africa, where he was met by a tribe of natives, 
over whom he planned to rule. Unfortunately, the 
natives possessed a large idol, the ear of which had 
been broken off. This was the stone that had been 
given to Jephson, and through its possession the 
natives regarded him as their ruler. In order, there- 
fore, to get rid of his rival, the one white man whom 
he dared not kill, Goring gave him a boat and told 
him to make for Gibraltar. This Jephson did, and 
lived to tell the story of the capture and the fate of 
the crew of the American brig Marie Celeste. But, 
as he himself admitted, he could find no one to believe 

The following are some of the solutions 
with which other eminent novelists have 
been good enough to favour us. Whether 
our readers think that any of them completely 
solve the mystery, or whether they themselves 




can suggest something more plausible, now 
remains to be seen. 

Mr. Barry Pain's solution is as follows : — 

Supernatural explanations are too easy to be satis- 
factory. Looking, then, for a natural explanation, 
it is clear that the crew and passengers of the brig 
did not leave her of their own free will or in pursuance 
of any plan of their own. What, then, was their motive 
for leaving ? Clearly it was fear. If they had been 
lured away by any kind of attraction, they would 
at least have finished breakfast first, and taken with 
them some of their personal belongings. They had 
to go at once — on the moment — and they went because 
they were afraid. 

The idea that all thirteen of them went mad simul- 
taneously and jumped overboard asks too much of 
coincidence. They left in a boat, and it was not one 
of the boats belonging to the brig. Therefore that 
boat came alongside the Marie Celeste, and contained 
in it the source of the terror which led to the abandon- 
ment of the brig. 

Of what nature was that terror ? There were no 
signs of any violent struggle. There was no bloodshed. 
But an unarmed man who has a loaded revolver 
pointed at him does not struggle. He does what he 
is told by the man who holds the gun. 

Let us now suppose that a ship, which we will call 
the " X," is engaged in some nefarious enterprise. 
The nature of the enterprise may be left to the imagina- 
tion—it does not matter. Fever breaks out on the 
44 X," and many of the crew die. There are not enough 
hands left to work the ship. The survivors are in 
a desperate plight. They dare not signal for help, 
because their ship will not bear inspection. The 
44 X" is well supplied in all ways except in men. 
The survivors must get men. 

Now, men were taken from the Marie Celeste, and 
nothing else, with the exception of the chronometer, 
was taken. The boat from the " X " came alongside 
the Marie Celeste, and the boat's crew had a plausible 
story and showed every sign of friendliness. They 
went aboard the Marie Celeste, and they really had 
only eleven people to deal with. The woman and child 
that made up the thirteen could be neglected. Possibly 
those eleven were taken in sections. First of all, those 
of the crew who were on deck were terrorized by the 
revolvers and secured by ropes. Then those who were 
below were treated in a similar way. The human 
cargo was then removed by boat to the " X" The 
chronometer was simply an after- thought. The 
survivors of the " X " had not come for chronometers, 
but for men. One of them happened to take a fancy 
to the chronometer. 

Several possibilities would account for the fact 
that not one of the crew or passengers of the Marie 
Celeste was ever seen again. They may have died 
of fever. The " X " may have gone down with all 
hands. It is not beyond possibility that some of them 
may be alive even now. An honest man who has been 
compelled by fear to engage in dishonest work may 
feel that his character is lost, and may prefer not to 
disclose his identity. 

Mr. Morley Roberts writes : — 

I have thought of the Marie Celeste at intervals 
for thirty years, and have never yet made the wildest 
shot at a solution. The data are insufficient to draw 
any conclusion from. If we knew the history of 
everyone on board, something might be suggested. 
It is, of course, easy enough to cook up a fictional 
hypothesis, but that is simply supplying the very facts 

Digitized by Cit 

we can't get at. The explanation is almost certainly 
simpler than the problem, but more complex. I have 
sometimes thought it was a " put-up " job, arranged 
by the captain for some reason, and his plan went 
wrong. Perhaps there was finance at the bottom of 
it. The fact that on analysis the notion of blood 
on the sword and woodwork was negatived makes 
what looks like a clue as vain as everything else. 

Mr. Horace Annesley Vachell thus explains 
the mystery : — 

I think, with the rest of the world, that one must 
dismiss as quite untenable the hypothesis of piracy 
or mutiny. Nothing would seem to be left but the 
occurrence of some absolutely unforeseen phenomenon, 
which caused every soul on board to jump overboard 
and perish. I conceive it possible that a submarine 
explosion, of a volcanic character, may have sent to 
the surface of the Atlantic some lethal gas lighter than 
water and heavier than air, whose fumes lingered 
together for an appreciable time. The ship sailed 
into this noxious zone. The effect of the gas may have 
excited madness and a raging thirst, a desire for water 
at any cost. One imagines the watch on deck to be 
affected first. One piercing scream would have 
alarmed those in the cabin and forecastle. The mate, 
realizing that something terrific had happened, may 
have seized the chronometer to note the exact time, 
or the instrument may have been in his hand at the 
moment, a more probable conjecture. The captain* 
may have seized the ship's papers, sensible that a 
catastrophe was impending. In any case he rushed 
on deck, followed by the mate, the woman, and the 
child. At the same moment the rest of the crew 
appeared from the forecastle. The gas affected them 
instantly. Each became raving mad, and plunged 
into the sea, which swallowed them and their secret . 
Any attack by man or beast must have left some trace, 
and we are told that the stains on cutlass and wains- 
cot were not those of blood. Whatever happened 
must have taken place with almost incredible swiftness. 
The ship's company must have perished instantly. 
How ? Suicide alone explains this wholesale slaughter 
which left no trace. Suicide by a crew possessed 
of sudden madness. No poison taken with their fooi 
could act so simultaneously and swiftly. The poison, 
therefore, must have been administered by Nature in 
one overwhelming dose. Are there gases in Nature's 
laboratories which might create madness and raging 
thirst ? If so, are such gases of the nature of carbonic 
acid gas heavy enough to lie upon" the face of the 
waters till dissipated and weakened by atmospheric 
changes ? Perhaps the calmness of the weather, 
a dead smooth sea, hardly any wind, and so forth, 
caused the escaping fumes to hold together for a few 
minutes. I am no chemist, and make these con- 
jectures at hazard. 

Finally, Mr. Arthur Morrison has cast his 
solution into the form of a little story. 

The name of Joseph Hallers, A.B., had been " signed 
on " for ship after ship, about which vessels, however, 
the man was never called anything but 4t Holy Joe," 
or " Old Swede-bug." He was an enormous creature, 
with almost disproportionately enormous hands and 
arms, and a seaman of known efficiency and trust- 
worthiness, whose discharge papers never varied. 
He had his abnormality, however, and owed his 
nicknames thereto. He was a religious crank. This 
is not a peculiarity unknown among sailors, but " Holy 
Joe " was of an unusual type — he was a Swedenborgian, 
and a translation of Emanuel Swedenborg's " Heavenly 




Arcana " accompanied him on every voyage, and from 
it and from other treatises of the ' mystic he would 
lecture the forecastle into mystified derision. He lived 
in a world of spirits and " correspondences." For him 
death did not exist, and all the departed were about 
him in his daily comings and goings, merely purged 
of bodily encumbrance and bodily needs. We were 
spirits all — an emanation of the substance of the sun. 
Every animal and plant, every inanimate object 
even, every name, word, and number had its mystic 
meaning, its hidden " correspondence " with some 
deep-seated fact of spiritual existence — the only real 
existence he would admit. Time was a part of eternity, 
and he esteemed no human invention so highly as 
that of the clock, by which man could bring a spiritual 
conception to actual measurement. On the whole, 
" Old Swede-bug " was regarded as a harmless idiot ; 
but he was a very large and strong one, so he indulged 
his fancies unmolested. 

" Holy Joe's " last voyage was in the Marie Celeste, 
and that was the last voyage also of all on board. 
Thirteen was the number, including the skipper's 
wife and small child, and the superstition as to that 
luckless numeral affected " Holy Joe " in a charac- 
teristically topsy-turvy fashion. He affirmed that 
the voyage started under spiritual portent of great 
and happy significance, that a wholesale conversion 
and transfiguration was certain. He preached and 
he argued with more fervour than ever, and the fore- 
castle chaff made him frantic and prophetic. Jim 
Tubbs, chief among the scoffers, should be the first 
to " see the light," he averred, and the crew had an 
odd shock when Jim Tubbs one calm but dark night 
disappeared wholly. 

He had been at look-out, and the mate at the helm, 
failing to get an answer to a hail, shouted angrily 
again and again, supposing him to have fallen asleep. 
But at the turn of the watch no Jim Tubbs was to be 
found, nor any trace of him about the ship. And two 
nights afterwards another man vanished with just as 
much mystery — again the man at look-out. 

The ship's crew was so far affected that all watches 
were changed, and the look-out man was never alone 
at night. But this arrangement had only lasted two 
nights when something occurred in early morning 
and broad daylight. 

In the captain's cabin the skipper, his wife and 
little daughter, and the mate were at breakfast. The 
morning was soft and calm, with a light and steady 
wind, and the brig was wholly in charge of one Allen, 
at the wheel. In and about the forecastle the rest of 
the foremast hands, half-a-dozen, were some at the 
beginning of breakfast, some hanging their shirts out 
to dry. Allen, at the wheel, saw nothing of their 
doings beyond the flap of a blue shirt once and again, 
and indeed had little to think of beyond keeping 
her steady south-west-by-west. So things were when 
he became aware of " Holy Joe " coming aft with a 
can of coffee and a tin pannikin. 

" We've been tryin' this 'ere coffee in the fo'c'sle," 
said " Holy Joe," " and we think it's just pizen. We'll 
speak to the old man. You try it." 

Alien, suspecting nothing, took a gulp from the 
pannikin, stared for a moment, then opened and closed 
his mouth once or twice, and changed colour. " Holy 
Joe " took the wheel with a madman's chuckle. 

" Lie down and go easy," he said. " I said it was 
pizen. We're all goin' to be with Jim Tubbs. Jim's 
been talkin' to me about it day an' night ever since 
I put him overboard an' released his soul. We'll 
leave no sinful flesh aboard this ship." 

" Holy Toe " took a length of line from his pocket 
and lashed the wheel. 
VoL xlvi-7. 

" Sou'-west-by-west it is," he said, " an' a steady 
air o' wind. Over with your old carcass, Allen. Your 
soul'U thank me joyful for this." 

Allen, pallid, sweating, and gasping, lay staring at 
his feet. 

"Just like the rest, Allen," said "Holy Joe," 
stooping to lift him. " Five of 'em in the fo'c'sle I'm 
to heave over, and they're thankin' me grateful now 
aloud in my ears, like Jim an' Billy." 

The dying man was like a kitten in " Holy Joe's " 
long arms, and went over the rail unresisting. Then 
the madman, exultantly waving his arms, made for 
the companion-way, and called quietly for Mr. Bilson, 
the mate. 

" The chaps are all very queer for'ard, sir," explained 
" Holy Joe," when the mate appeared. " I believe 
it's something in the coffee. I haven't had any. I 
think you'd better see 'em." 

The mate stepped on deck and walked towards 
the forecastle, and the maniac dropped slyly behind 
him. The struggle was over in a second. Sturdy, 
but small, the mate was taken wholly unawares from 
behind in " Holy Joe's " enormous arms and rolled 
over the bulwarks ere he could turn his head or catch 
at anything. 

" I m sendin' 'em, Jim, I'm sendin' 'em ! " the mad- 
man cried. " All same as you, Jim ! " 

In the cabin the skipper paused in his breakfast, 
turning over the ship's papers, doubtful of some entry. 
His wife reached for a bottle of a favourite advertised 
cough remedy which she took in season and out, 
for cure or prevention. Their little daughter, restless 
at her breakfast, sought the companion ladder and 
looked upward. There stood " Holy Joe," smiling 
and beckoning to her. The pet of the ship's company, 
dreading nothing, climbed the ladder, and was lifted 
on deck. 

A moment later came " Holy Joe's " voice down the 

The child was overboard. 

Captain Griggs, cramming the papers into his 
pocket by instinct, sprang up the ladder roaring for 
the boat, and jumped overboard as he was, where 
" Holy Joe " pointed. Behind him came his wife 
and hung frantically over the bulwark screaming for 
aid for her husband and child, and in the next instant 
she was flung after them, and the maniac danced alone 
on the empty deck. 

He ran to the wheel, cut the lashing, and. put her 
before the wind till the distant white speck of the 
woman's dress was no more visible. Then he left the 
helm to itself, and went forward to clear the fore- 

Two dead men were on deck and three in the fore- 
castle. One after another they went overboard to 
the sharks that came about the brig, and " Holy Joe," 
alone on the Marie Celeste, danced again and gibbered 
at the ghosts he saw about him. 

" The flesh consumes, but the spirit liveth ! " he 
cried. " It's all but done, Jim — all but done. I'm 
coming. You laughed in the flesh, but you praise me 
in the spirit. The flesh and the day die, but eternity 
is for ever, and time is the measure of the mea- 
sureless ! " 

He capered and sang and screamed, and ran for 
the ship's chronometer. 

" Here is time," he cried, " and I give it to eternity ! 
Time and myself, we join the crew again, skipper and 
mate and Jim and all ! " 

With that he spun about and sprang overboard, 
with the chronometer gripped tight in his arms. 

The Marie Celerle clf.pp«:d *ri <i yawed, took the wind 
again, and drifted off on the cafnr Atlantic. 

** Amusing Children 
I Have Met. 

^kVritten and Illustrated by 


[The Cowham child may be said to be an institution, and there are few. surely, who are not 
acquainted wuh that droll little creature with the odd-shaped legs, short skirts, fluffy hair, and most 
innocent of expressions which Hilda Cowham— in private life Mrs. Lander — has made so popular. As a 
child Hilda Cowham used to draw quaint children, and she was realty the first woman to take up black- 
and-white illustrating, studying first at the Wimbledon and Lambeth Schools of Art, Her work attracted 
much attention, and commissions poured in from the editors of many periodicals, She discovered that her 
forte lay in child -studies, and tn this interesting article she tells some amusing stories of children she has 
met. Incidentally, the artist gives a few facts regarding her methods of work.] 

LOVE watching children, il 
they are interesting, and I 
never miss an opportunity of 
overhearing their prattle and 
conversation. But I don't 
like all children. I like those 
who are naturally interesting, 
rather than the precocious youngster. There 
are some children who are grown up beyond 
their years, who seem to assume airs and 
habits whit h arc quite out of keeping with 
their age. On the other hand, there are 
children who arc a delight to the artistic eye, 
as well as to the mind ; and it is such children 
who provide rne with the best material for 
my child studies. 

I might mention, in the first place, that I 
never use a model, and that it is by quietly 
studying children when they are quite unaware 

of my observation that I obtain my best 
impressions. I may make a rough sketch, 
but that is chiefly to impress it on my memory, 
and it often happens that I use the figure of 
a child I have seen months afterwards, and 
perhaps am at a loss to know, for the moment, 
where the idea came from. Practically 
speaking, all my finished work is done from 
imagination or memory, and the quicker I 
work the better effect I often obtain. 

There is one curious fact about many of 
my pictures which shows how greatly we are 
influenced by early associations. I often find 
it difficult, when making a study of a child 
out of doors, not to introduce a little bit of 
Margate as a background. I suppose that 
is because I went to Margate as a child 3 and 
took a fancy to it. I have not been there 

for i7ff^rtmraiafr a Iittle ™ od ™ 



pier on which the children played* I have 
sketched bits of this wooden pier hundreds 
of times. Sometimes it is only a vague line 
qr two, but to me it is always the little pier 
I iBice played on at Margate. Just occa- 
sionally I put my figures at Brighton or 
Harwich. I only went to the latter place 
for a day, but it rather appealed to me. 

One pleasing feature of my work is the 
number of letters which I receive from people 
and children with whom I have not the 
slightest acquaintance. Very often I get 
letters from mothers saying that they have 
dressed their little one like a Hilda Cowham 

But a constant source of delight to me are 
the quaint and amusing sayings which I 
overhear at times in my associations with 
children and the funny little pranks they get 
up to. I was once at a house, for instance, 
where everybody smoked, and the small 
child (about two), feeling rather out of it, I 
suppose, took a handful of cigarettes from the 
box and went into the hall. A few minutes 
afterwards I went out and found him there, 
sitting in the middle of the floor, puffing away 
at an unlighted cigarette, with all the tiger- 
skin rugs round him, each with a cigarette in ' 
its mouth, or — if it was one of the pressed- 
flat type — the cigarettes were put into its 
ears, one in each ear. 

The ingenuity of the 
small child is simply 
astonishing, and 
although at times it is 
apt to lead him into 
wrongdoingand specious 
excuses, one cannot help 
laughing at the manner 
in which he attains his 
desire and avoids rank 
disobedience* Once a 
friend of mine took 
Billy, his little son, 
round his garden — quite 
a small one — where the 
apple trees were those 
trained along to make a 
fence, and consequently 
the fruit grew very low 
down. Pointing to them, 
he said to Billy, " Now, you mustn't pick any 
of those apples. Do you hear ? You're not 
to pick them." " Yes, daddy, I won't." But 
after about a week he went round his garden 
again, and sticking out from the trees were 
some cores. The child had taken him quite 
literally. He had not picked them ! 

Equally ingenious is a little niece of mine 

who has an imaginary husband, who at 
times is " a great weight on her mind," she 
says, and sometimes, but not often, " comes 
in useful." Her mother gave her a chocolate 
one day, and after a pause gave her one for 
her husband also. The little girl ate hers, and 
then, saying her husband was sitting on the 
stairs as he was shy, took his out to him. 
Presently she returned. Her mother said, 
" How did husband like his sweet ? " " Oh," 
said Joan, " he said he felt sick and couldn't 
eat it, so I could have it." 

On another occasion I asked a small child 
to stay with me for the day. She arrived 
early in the morning, and seemed to be enjoy- 
ing herself very much, but in the afternoon I 
found her upstairs in tears. I said, " What's 
the matter ? " " Oh, I don't know, but I 
feel as though I lived here now ! " Not very 
complimentary, certainly, but the feelings 
which prompted the remark will be readily 
understood when it is explained that the 
child was exceptionally fond of her mother, 
and was seldom separated from her. 

My own small boy has been a source of 
amusement to me at times. During his first 
term at school he told me one day that he was 
humming in class. The master turned round 
and said, sarcastically, " Go on humming , 
we like it." " And I did, mother," he re- 
marked, naively, " and 
he came and turned me 
out. Why did he do 
that ? " 

He was talking to his 
cousin one day, who is 
much smaller than he 
is, about their respective 
schools. My son said, 
" You're only a baby. 
You go to a baby's 
school, where you're 
taught by a lady. Vm 
taught by a man." 
"Oh," said his cousin, 
indignantly, " if I do go 
to a baby's school and 
am taught by a lady, 
she's got short hair, 


anyway ! " Which, I 

suppose, made up 
for the deficiency of sex. 

Another amusing encounter between these 
two was brought about through my nursing 
a baby, not by any means a beauty. My son 
and nephew were discussing the usual ques- 
tion of where babies come from. Dick, the 
nephew, said, " It's come from heaven. 

Mother ^fr^OF^^^ is ei * ht ' 




said, " Well, I hope if I die and go to heaven, 
they won't send me back like that. Ugh ! " 

On another occasion I heard one youngster 
say to another, referring to the latter's brother, 
who was not overpowered with beauty, " Is 
that your new brother ? " " Yes," was the 
reply. " Well, if he wasn't your brother, 
would you have choosed him ? " 

One of the most embarrassing situations in 
which I was ever placed was caused by a niece 
of mine, whose father was a clergyman, and 
whom I took to church for the first time. 
She did not in the least know what her father 
did, and for a long time did not observe him. 
But, after sitting quietly beside me for 
some time, hardly daring to raise her eyes, 
because I told her she must be quite quiet or 
she would not go to church again, she sud- 
denly, in the middle of the sermon, looked up 
and saw him and screamed, " Auntie, look, 
there's daddy up there ! And whatever is 
he yelling about ? " 

Which reminds me of two little nephews of 
mine who were taken to a churchyard by a 
very old and pious aunt. She, thinking to 
impress the surroundings on them, said, 
" You know, Jack and Fred, it is only the 
body that lies here. Now, what part of him 
goes to heaven ? " " His head, I suppose." 

There are probably many mothers who have 
had cause to smile at the quaint additions 
which their children at times have made to 
their prayers. A little girl friend of mine 
was once taken to a ventriloquial entertain- 
ment, which impressed her very much. 
Whilst saying her prayers that night she asked 
God to look after all her brothers and sisters 
and make her a good girl. Then there was a 
pause, and one heard, sotto voce, " All right." 

Molly, another little girl I knew, was saying 
her prayers, and, as she was going to a party 
the next week, she ended up with, " And 
please give me a new dress " — pause—*' if 
you can afford it." 

A little friend of mine was once told that 
she need not be afraid, as angels would watch 
round her bed all night. She hesitated, and 
then said, " Mother, will you leave the light, 
as I wouldn't like one to settle on me." 

And there are few who will not sympathize 
with the little daughter of a well-known 
actress, who was sitting next to me one day. 
She had been kissed and fussed by a great 
many ladies, when a gentleman came up and 
said, " Have you a kiss to spare for me ? " 

" No," said the little lady, very bored, u I 
haven't a kiss left in me." 

I was once teaching for a little while in a 
school to relieve a friend of mine. I had 
written the alphabet on the board and had 
gone over it two or three times with the chil- 
dren, who were very young. I then asked 
one of them what came after A. She waited 
a long time. " What came after B ? " I said. 
No answer. " Well, what came after C ? " 
She turned round and said, " Look on the 

At the same school I asked the same little 
people, " Does a cat wear fur or feathers ? " 
One of them looked at me in astonishment 
and said, " Haven't you ever seen a cat ? " 





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by Google 

Original from 



Another little nephew 
was once with me at the 
seaside, and had quite a 
craze for fishing. He used 
to spend * great deal of 
time digging for bait which 
he never got. One day, 
getting rather tired of his 
fruitless efforts, he turned 
to me and asked, " Can 
you tame worms ? 'Cos, 
if so, it would be nice to 
have a stock in the house, 
and then I would have no 
trouble in getting bait." 

Very practical was the 
suggestion of another small 
boy who was constantly 
being corrected by his 
mother. He told her that 
she should have a gramo- 
phone, " and then it would 
say all the 'don'ts' for you, 
mother, wouldn't it ? " 

A little girl once said to me, " 
people on the moon ? " I said 


Are there 
I didn't 

they lie down and go to 
bed ? " 

Very quaint was the idea 
of a little girl who was 
once visitinga house where 
a small child had died 
recently. She was asked 
to draw something. So 
she drew a grave with 
some flowers on it. Her 
mother, on seeing it, said, 
" Janie, you mustn't do 

that ; Mrs. wouldn't 

like it. You see, it re- 
minds her of very sad 
things." " Oh, well," said 
the child, " perhaps it was 
thoughtless of me ; but I 
can easily turn it into a 
beehive." Andshedid,with 
all the bees coming out. 

Amusing, too, are 
these two " pet " stories. 
I once asked a little girl 
where her pet dog was. She turned and 
said to me, " Why, he's gone to heaven. 
He's there now, with wings and a crown on 
his head." 

A little boy was once drawing ships, and I 
hoticed that all his flags on the boats were 
half-mast, I said, " Why have you got all 
your flags half-mast on your drawing, 
Bobbie ? " " Oh," he said, in a hushed 
whisper, " all pussy's kittens died this 


know, but that perhaps there were. " Well, 
what do they do," she said, " when there's 
only a little bit ? They must get very 
crowded. Don't they ? " Which was almost 
as perplexing as the query put to me 
by another little maiden, who asked, 
" What do angels do with their wings when 

Vol slri.-* 

"l ^Hr^ftiVT'7 1 ^^ "' I«TO A BEEHIVE/ 




Illustrated by Harry Rountree, 



^\ T D now I come to the end 
of this extraordinary inci- 
dent so overshadowing in 
its importance, not only in 
our own small, individual 
lives, but in the general 
history of the human race* 
As I said when 1 began my narrative, 
when that history comes to be written this 
occurrence will surely stand out among all 
other events like a mountain towering among 
its foothills. Our generation has been 
reserved for a very special fate since it has 
been chosen to experience so wonderful a 
thing. How long its effect may last — how 
long mankind may preserve the humility and 
reverence which this great shock has taught 
it, can only be shown by the future, I think 
it is safe to say that things can never be 
quite the same again. Never can one 
realize how powerless and ignorant one is, 
and how one is upheld by an unseen hand, 
until for an instant that hand has seemed 
to close and to crush* Death has been 
imminent upon us. We know that at 
any moment it may be again. That grim 
presence shadows our lives, but who can deny 
that in that shadow the sense of duty, the 
feeling of sobriety and responsibility, the 
appreciation of the gravity and of the objects 
of life, the earnest desire to de% T elop and im- 
prove, have grown and become real with us 
to a degree that has leavened our w r hole 
society from end to end ? It is something 
beyond sects and beyond dogmas. It is 
rather an alteration of perspective, a shifting of 
our sense of proportion , a vivid realization 
that wc are insignificant and evanescent 
creatures, existing on sufferance and at 
the mercy uf the first chill wind from the 
unknown. But f the world has grown 
graver with this knowledge it is not, I 

Copyright, i^i 3 , 

think, a sadder place in consequence. 
Surely we are agreed that the more sober 
and restrained pleasures of the present are 
deeper as well as wiser than the noisy, foolish 
hustle which passed so often for enjoyment 
in the days of old — days so recent and yet 
already so inconceivable. Those empty lives 
which were wasted in aimless visiting and being 
visited, in the worry of great and unnecessary 
households, in the arranging and eating of 
elaborate and tedious meals, have now found 
rest and health in the reading, the music, the 
gentle family communion which comes from 
a simpler and saner division of their time. 
With greater health and greater pleasure 
they are richer than before, even after they 
have paid those increased contributions to 
the common fund which have so raised the 
standard of life in these islands. 

There is some clash of opinion as to the 
exact hour of the great awakening. It is 
generally agreed that, apart from the difference 
of clocks, there may have been local causes 
which influenced the action of the poison, 
Certainly, in each separate district the resur- 
rection was practically simultaneous. There 
are numerous witnesses that Big Ben pointed 
to ten minutes past six at the moment. The 
Astronomer Royal has fixed the Greenwich 
time at twelve past six. On the other hand, 
Laird Johnson, a very capable East Anglian 
observer, has recorded six-twenty as the 
hour. In the Hebrides it was as late as seven. 
In our own case there can be no doubt what- 
ever, for I was seated in Challenger's study 
with his carefully-tested chronometer in front 
of me at the moment. The hour was a 
quarter-past six. 

An enormous depression was weighing upon 
my spirits. The cumulative effect of all the 
dreadful sights which we had seen upon our 
journey was heavy upon my soul. With my 
abounding animal health and great physical 

y rM^^MW° uding was a 




rare event, I had the Irish faculty of seeing 
some gleam of humour in every darkness. 
But now the obscurity was appalling and 
unrelieved. The others were downstairs 
making their plans for the future. I sat 
by the open window, my chin resting upon my 
hand j and my mind absorbed in the misery 
of our situation. Could we continue to live ? 
That was the question which I had begun to 
ask myself. Was it possible to exist upon a 
dead world ? just as in physics the greater 
body draws to itself the lesser, would we not 
feel an overpowering attraction from that vast 

body of humanity which had passed into the 
unknown ? How would the end come ? 
Would it be from a return of the poison ? 
Or would the earth be uninhabitable from the 
mephitic products of universal decay ? Or, 
finally j might our awful situation prey upon 
and unbalance our minds ? A group of insane 
folk upon a dead world ! My mind was brood- 
ing upon this last dreadful idea when some 
slight noi^e caused me to look down upon 
the road beneath me. The old cab- horse was 
coming up the la I from 
I wag iflqipRt^ tfjpthg fSflipr^^stant of the 




twittering of birds, of someone coughing in 
the yard below, and of a background of 
movement in the landscape* And yet I 
remember that it was that absurd, emaciated, 
superannuated cab - horse which held my 
gaze. Slowly and wheezily it was climbing 
the slope. Then my eye travelled to the 
driver sitting hunched up upon the box, 
and finally to the young man who was lean- 
ing out of the window in some excitement 
and shouting a direction* They were all 
indubitably aggressively alive ! 

Everybody was alive once more ! Had it 
all been a delusion ? Was it conceivable 
that this whole poison belt incident had been 

an elaborate 
dream ? For an 
instant my startled 
brain was really 
ready to believe 
it. Then I looked 
down , and there 
was the rising 
blister on my hand 
where it was 
frayed by the rope 
of the City bell. It 
had really been so, 
then. And yet 
here was the wgrld 
resuscitated — here 
was life come back 
in an instant full 
tide to the planet. 
Now, as my eyes 
wandered all over 
the great land- 
scape j I saw it in 
every direction — 
and moving, to my 
amazement, in the 
very same groove 
in which it had 
halted* There were 
golfers. Was it 
possible that they 
were going on with 
their game ? Yes, 
there was a fellow 
driving off from a 
tee, and that other 
group upon the 
green were surely 
putting for the 
hole. The reapers 
were slowly troop- 
ing back to their 
work. The nurse- 
girl had slapped 
one of her charges and then began to push 
the perambulator up the hill. Everyone 
had unconcernedly taken up the thread at 
the very point where they had dropped it. 
I rushed downstairs, but the hall door was 
open, and I heard the voices of my com- 
panions, loud in astonishment and congratu- 
lation, in the yard. How we all shook hands 
and laughed as we came together, and how 
Mrs. Challenger kissed us all in her emotion, 
before she finally threw herself into the bear- 
hug of her husband ! 

* E But they could not have been asleep ! " 
cried Lord JcIul il Deish it all, Challengei 
you clqn't mem rr.e to believe that those folk 



were asleep with their staring eyes, and stiff 
limbs, and that awful death-grin on their 
faces !" 

" It can only have been the condition that 
is called catalepsy/' said Challenger. " It has 
been a rare phenomenon in the past and has 
constantly been mistaken for death. While it 
endures the temperature falls, the respiration 
disappears, the heart-beat is indistinguishable 
— in fact, it is death, save that it is evanescent. 
Even the most comprehensive mind " — here 
he closed his eyes and simpered — " could 
hardly conceive a universal outbreak of it in 
this fashion." 

44 You may label it catalepsy," remarked 
Surnmerlee, " but, after all, that is only a 
name, and we know as little of the result as 
we do of the poison which has caused it. The 
most we can say is that the vitiated ether 
has produced a temporary death." 

Austin was seated all in a heap on the 
step of the car. It was his coughing which 
I had heard from above. He had been 
holding his head in silence, but now he was 
muttering to himself and running his eyes 
over the car. 

" Young fat-head ! " he grumbled. " Can't 
leave things alone ! " 

44 What's the matter, Austin ? " 

" Lubricators left running, sir. Someone 
has been fooling with the car. I expect it's 
that young garden boy, sir." 

Lord John looked guilty. 

" I don't know what's amiss with me," 
continued Austin, staggering to his feet. " I 
expect I came over queer when I was hosing 
her down. I seem to remember flopping 
over by the step. But I'll swear I never left 
those lubricator taps on." 

In a condensed narrative the astonished 
Austin was told what had happened to him- 
self and the world. The mystery of the drop- 
ping lubricators was also explained to him. 
He listened with an air of deep distrust when 
told how an amateur had driven his car, and 
with absorbed interest to the few sentences 
in which our experiences of the sleeping City 
were recorded. I can remember his comment 
when the story was concluded. 

" Was you outside the Bank of England, 
sir ? " 

" Yes, Austin." 

" With all them millions inside and every- 
body asleep ? " 

" That was so." 

" And I not there ! " he groaned, and turned 
dismally once more to the hosing of his car. 

There was a sudden grinding of wheels upon 
gravel. The old cab had actually pulled up 

VoL xlvi— a 

at Challenger's door. I saw the young occu- 
pant step out from it. An instant later the 
maid, who looked as tousled and bewildered 
as if she had that instant been roused from 
the deepest sleep, appeared with a card upon 
a tray. Challenger snorted ferociously as 
he looked at it, and his thick black hair seemed 
to bristle up in his wrath. 

" A Pressman ! " he growled. Then, with 
a deprecating smile : " After all, it is natural 
that the whole world should hasten to know 
what I think of such an episode." 

44 That can hardly be his errand," said 
Surnmerlee, " for he was on the road in his 
cab before ever the crisis came." 

I looked at the card : " James Baxter, 
London Correspondent New York Monitor" 

44 You'll see him ? " said I. 

" Not I." 

"Oh, George ! You should be kinder and 
more considerate to others. Surely you have 
learned something from what we have under- 

He tut-tutted and shook his big, obstinate 

" A poisonous breed ! Eh, Malone ? The 
worst weed in modern civilization, the ready 
tool of the quack and the hindrance of the 
self-respecting man ! When did they ever 
say a good word for me?" 

" When did you ever say a good word to 
them ? " I answered. " Come, sir, this is a 
stranger who has made a journey to see you. 
I am sure that you won't be rude to him." 

" Well, well," he grumbled, " you come 
with me and do the talking. I protest in 
advance against any such outrageous in- 
vasion of my private life." Muttering and 
mumbling, he came rolling after me like an 
angry and rather ill-conditioned mastiff. 

The dapper young American pulled out 
hi§ notebook and plunged instantly into his 

" I came down, sir," said he, " because our 
people in America would very much like to 
hear more about this danger which is, in your 
opinion, pressing upon the world." 

" I know of no danger which is now press- 
ing upon the world," Challenger answered, 

The Pressman looked at him in mild 

44 I meant, sir, the chances that the world 
might run into a belt of poisonous ether." 

44 I do not now apprehend any such danger," 
said Challenger. 

The Pressman looked even more perplexed. 

44 You are Professor Challenger, are you 

not? "lMfff>ltY OF MICHIGAN 


the s:raxd magazine. 


" Yes, sir ; that is my name." It was Challenger's turn to look surprised. 

" I cannot understand f then, how you can (t This mominji ? " said he, *' No London 

say that there is no such danger. I am allud- Times was .published this morning." 

ing to your own letter, published above your u Surt\j^k&P'\,ud the American, in mild 

name in the London Times of this morning." remfck^lfi^JY^ that the 



London Times is a daily paper." He drew 
out a copy from his inside pocket. " Here is 
the letter to which I refer." 

Challenger chuckled and rubbed his hands. 

11 1 begin to understand," said he. " So 
you read this letter this morning ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" And came at once to interview me ? " 

" Yes, sir." 

" Did you observe anything unusual upon 
the journey down ? " 

" Well, to tell the truth, your people seemed 
more lively and generally human than I have 
ever seen them. The baggage-man set out 
to tell me a funny story, and that's a new 
experience for me in this country." 

" Nothing else ? " 

" Why, no, sir, not that I can recall." 

" Well, now, what hour did you leave 
Victoria ? " 

The American smiled. 

" I came here to interview you, Professor, 
but it seems to be a case of : Is this nigger 
fishing, or is this fish niggering ? You're doing 
most of the work." 

" It happens to interest me. Do you recall 
the hour ? " 

" Sure. It was half-past twelve." 

" And you arrived ? " 

11 At a quarter-past two." 

" And you hired a cab ? " 

" That was so." 

" How far do you suppose it is to the 
station ? " 

" Well, I should reckon the best part of 
two miles." 

" So how long do you think it took you ? " 

" Well, half an hour, maybe, with that 
asthmatic in front." 

" So it should be three o'clock ? " 

" Yes, or a trifle after it." 

" Look at your watch." 

The American did so, and then stared at us 
in astonishment. 

" Say ! " he cried. " It's twenty past six. 
That horse has broken every record, sure. 
Four hours from the station ! But it's 
not possible. The sun is pretty low, now 
that I come to look at it. Well, there's some- 
thing here I don't understand." 

" Have you no remembrance of anything 
remarkable as you came up the hill ? " 

" Well, I seem to recollect that I was 
mighty sleepy once. It comes back to me 
that I wanted to say something to the driver, 
and that I couldn't make him heed me. I 
guess it was the heat, but I felt swimmy for 
a moment. That's all." 

" So it is with the whole human race/' said 

Challenger to me. " They have all felt 
swimmy for a moment. None of them 
have as yet any comprehension of what has 
occurred. Each will go on with his inter- 
rupted job as Austin has snatched up his 
hose-pipe or the golfer continued his game. 
Your editor, Malone, will continue the issue 
of his papers, and very much amazed he will 
be at finding that an issue is missing. Yes, 
my young friend," he added, to the American 
reporter, with a sudden mood of amused 
geniality, " it may interest you to know that 
the world has" swum safely through the 
poisonous current which swirls like the Gulf 
Stream through the ocean of ether. You 
will also kindly note for your own future con- 
venience that to-day is not Friday, August the 
twenty-seventh, but Saturday, August the 
twenty-eighth, and that you sat senseless in 
your cab for twenty-eight hours upon the 
Rotherfield Hill." 

And " right here," as my American col- 
league would say, I may bring this narrative 
to an end. It is, as you are probably aware, 
only a fuller and more detailed version of 
the account which appeared in the Monday 
edition of the Daily Gazette — an account 
which has been universally admitted to be 
the greatest journalistic scoop of all time, 
which sold no fewer than three-and-a-half 
million copies of the paper. Framed upon 
the wall of my sanctum I retain those mag- 
nificent headlines: — 




Our Correspondent Escapes. 






Underneath this glorious scroll came nine- 
and-a-half columns of narrative, in which 
appeared the first, last, and only account of 
the history of the planet, so far as one ob- 
server could draw it, during one long day of 
its existence. Challenger and Summerlee 
have treated the matter in a joint scientific 
paper, but to me alone was left the popular 
account. Surely I can sing " Nunc Dimittis." 
What is left but anti-climax in the life of a 
journalist after that ! 

But let me net end an sensational head- 
lines and a merely personal triumph. Rather 




let me quote the sonorous passages in which 
the greatest of daily papers ended its admir- 
able leader upon the subject a leader which 
might well be filed for reference by every 
thoughtful man. 

c< It has been a well-worn truism/' said the 
Times f " that our human race are a feeble folk 
before the infinite latent forces which sur- 
round us. Fronr the prophets of old and from 
the philosophers of our own time the same 
message and warning have reached us. But, 
like all oft-repeated truths, it has in time lost 
something of its actuality and cogency. A 
lesson, an actual experience, was needed to build a miomcfrDBltftfyiiBiinpleJ' 


bring it home. It 
is from that salutary 
but terrible ordeal 
that we have just 
emerged , with minds 
which arre still 
stunned by the sud- 
denness of the bloWj 
and with spirits 
which are chastened 
by the realization of 
our own limitations 
and impotence. The 
world has paid a 
fearful price for its 
schooling. Hardly 
yet have we learned 
the full tale of dis- 
aster* but the destruc- 
tion by fire of New 
York, of Orleans, and 
of Brighton consti- 
tutes in itself one of 
the greatest tragedies 
in the history of our 
race- When the 
account of the rail- 
way and shipping 
accidents has been 
completed, it will 
furnish grim reading, 
although there is evi- 
dence to show that 
in the vast majority 
of cases the drivers of 
trains and engineers 
of steamers suc- 
ceeded in shutting off 
their motive power 
before succumbing to 
the poison, But the 
material damage, 
enormous as it is both 
in lifeand in property, 
is not the consideration which will be upper- 
most in our minds to-day. All this may in 
time be forgotten, But what will not be for- 
gotten, and what will and should continue to 
obsess our Imaginations, is this revelation of 
the possibilities of the universe, this destruc- 
tion of our ignorant self-complacency, and 
this demonstration of how narrow is the path 
of our material existence , and what abysses 
may lie upon either side of it* Solemnity 
and humility are at the base of all our emotions 
to-day. May they be the foundations upon 
which a more earnest and reverent race may 


Animal Studies 
rom liite. 


The following amusing studies are taken from the welUknown American 
comic paper " Life/ 1 which has for some time past made & feature of 
the humorous side of the animal world. We are glad ro be in a 
position to present our readers with a selection of these clever and 
entertaining sketches. 

N DIALS present their own aspects of humour, 
and the evidence is fully sufficient that 
some of them have a sense of humour of 
tluir own, A jackdaw certainly has, and it Is 
a kiss malicious sort than that quite as 
certainly possessed by his cousins the magpie 
and the raven ; it is more human, in a word. 
The dog's sense of humour seems to grow blunted after 
puppy hood ; or rather it changes, being overlaid by a horror 
of becoming ridiculous. Nothing in creation can stand a 
joke against itself so badly as a dog ; nothing is so wretched 
as a dog who thinks he is being laughed at* 

But the humour of animals as seen by human eyes is apt 
to depend on some supposed parallel between human and 
animal habits and conditions, so self-centred and self- 
sufficient are we of two legs and no unbought wings ; and it 
is the way of the comic artist who deals with animals to 
depend on semi-human situations for his effects. Mr, J. A. 
Shepherd, an old favourite of Strand readers, does this less 
than most, and has the faculty of bringing out the humour 
of animal life from the animals as they really live, a rare 
and difficult achievement. But in general, and quite legiti- 
mately, the humorous draughtsman makes the most of 
human concerns applied to animal life ; several American 
artists in particular show very lively and alert perceptions 
in this direction, and from the ever-bright pages of Life 
we reproduce a number of characteristic specimens, 

Mr. Walt Kuhn has made himself a reputation in one 
particular department, and we begin with a bright little 
drawing of his own particular sort, * E Be patient, dear ! " 
observes the little hen bird to the hungry husband perched 
above; "breakfast will be up in a minute!" And the 
Innocent breakfast, a caterpillar who has never dreamed itself 
to be a meal of any sort, rises patiently to its doom where the 
sharp-set spouse, with no patience at all, shows imminent 
signs of waiting no more, hut coming down to breakfast. 

Leaving Mr, Kuhn for a moment, we have a picture by Mr. 
Lutz wherein the woodpecker's obvious function as a " bill- 
sticker " gives the torn-tit a chance to score — in the 
human sense. 

Mr, Kuhn, finding a food joke successful , tries again, and 

Vol. Klvi + -11. 


Mr Tom-Tit: ( 'HRY! MF^trr, 

uon't you see that su;n\ or 

can't you read english?" 

>AV, lIKOrHLK, l\\l XFRAlU 

by {j 



Original from 




succeeds, notwithstanding the obvious parallel- 
ism of this to his former effort; and we reflect 
on the melancholy fact that not only here, 
but all o%tf the world, food is rising and is 
sometimes out of the reach of even ducklings. 

Centipede jokes are numerous as centipede 
legs, and here are mure, and new ones. 
Mr, Harrison Eady promotes the leggy insect 
to a distinguished place in his own profession , 
and credits it with a dexterity in each limb 
not given to the ablest human brother brushes. 
The pleasantry has something of a double 
application also in its obvious reference to the 
family likeness of all rabbits, so that the 
observation of one pair of eyes is enough to 
direct the work of many pairs of hands in 
this sort of portraiture. 

In the next sketch Mr H W, R. Graupner 
suggests certain disadvantages in American 
trading enterprise too recklessly imitated 
among animals. The monkey-barber adver- 

tises a free boot -polish to 
every visitor who pays 
for a shavej and his panic- 
stricken assistant conveys 
the ghastly news of the 
approach of a centipede- 
customer ! Thus prepared 
the reader is ready to con- 
template with modified 
horror the ruinous tragedy 
confronting the centipede- 
parent who finds himself 
in presence of a perfect 
hosier's shop of expect- 
antly-gaping stockings on 
Christmas Eve, 

But from the depths of 
tragedy we are brought 
up w ith a jerk in presence 
of the fashionable ostrich 


by Google 


who must re- 
verse the order 
of Nature or be 
out of the mode. 
These little sac- 
rifices must be 
made by any 
bird of social 
pretensions ; 
society expects 

Mr, Roose- 
velt's hunting 
adventures in 
Africa a few 
years back pro- 
v i d e d m u c h 
sport in the 
United States 
Press, and ani- 
mal jokes made 
part of the 
Mr. Roosevelt's 

not whollv in- 

Original from 


HI- At i.' " 



telegraphy, why nothing of wireless 
other things ? Why not, for in- 
stance, a wireless bird-cage which 
would confine the prisoner without 
obscuring the brilliance of its plum- 
age ? At any rate, the idea has 
occurred to our next artist (Mr, 
Smith), who pictures the misfortunes 
of a loving pair (the exact species 
seems a little difficult to identify ; 
are they starlings ?) parted by the 


conspicuous eyes and teeth must have been 
worth considerable sums in positive cash to 
American humorous artists during the past ten 
or fifteen years. In the time of his absence in 
Africa Mr, A, B. Walker imagines a walrus 
suddenly appearing before a pair of Polar 
bears who are struck by terror at what they 
suppose to be the presence of the chief enemy 
of the animal kingdom, believed to be ten 
thousand miles away* And at the same 
period Mr. Lutz, with a stroke of originality, 
abandons the ex-President's eyes and teeth 
for the opposite end of his anatomy — though 
here he finds it needful to label the boot-sole 
with the initials T. R, From which we may 
gather the comforting reflection that Mr. 
Roosevelt's feet, at any rate, are not vastly 
unlike those of less sublime citizens. 


We are hack with Mn Kuhn again in the 
next sketchy wherein a frequently-observed 
human preference for opposites is given 
application among birds ; the lady pelican 
expressing a preference for the company of 
the lengthy flamingo, who, with head bent 
low for facility of conversation, stalks beside 
her in a top-hat and nothing else. 

When there is so much talk of wireless 

Digitized by CTOOglC 


wireless walls of an invisible cage. It is a 
surprising property of this cage, we observe, 
that the exterior wirelessness manages some- 
how to support the ends of a perch and a 
piece of sugar. 


"CAN'^ r 3£M..-Jin AyWlRELESS CAGE 





Family pride is a little out of fashion 
nowadays, but there seems no reason for 
allowing it to decline in animals — indeed, 
every dog show, every poultry show, encourages 
and rewards it- Therefore it is possible to 

STUCK UI ] ?" 


show some sympathy with the fowl who boasts 
direct descent from Columbus's egg. 

And when Mr. Kuhn draws a pair of 
pigeons aghast at a speed-limit sign, the 
picture needs no legend at all. 

The kangaroo and its pouch can never be 


neglected by the comic draughtsman who 
deals with animal life, and, Indeed , none of 
them show any signs of neglecting it. 
The little conversation printed under Mr. 
Fenderson's picture tells the story clearly 

Digitized by Google 

The Viritor: *'SAY, BILL, IS YER SISTRR at 

ROM F, ? " 


The mouse-cabman who makes a hansom 
of a snail makes a figure in a drawing showing 


something more of quaint fancy than of 
sheer humour — something, perhaps, a little 

■ . 

8§jf flit RENT'S 

Original from 



reminding us of the late 
Ernest Griset. It is a light 
and pleasant fancy, not to 
be pushed too far, For 
what accommodation is 
there for the fare ? 

Mr. Graupner's snail- 
picture deals more with 
practicable fact. For the 
snail is an absolute free- 
holder and his house is his 
castle — till the nationalizing 
boot of some ruthless expro- 
priator terminates his ten- 
ancy. There is something 
about this drawing which 
quite irresponsibly brings 
to mind poor Dan Leno's reply to his wife, 
who , quoting from an advertisement, asks, 
"Why pay 
rent?" " My 
dear," quoth 
Dan, il we 

The opossum 
family, like 
that of the 
rabbit, is apt 
to be large ; 
and if opos- 
sums do run 
tramcars or 
railways of 
their ownt here 
must be a deal 
of difficulty 
about hal]f- 

tickets, not to 
consider the 
case of some 
dcterm tned 

*' YOU don't rxpkct me to take the whole hunch on one fare?'* 
Mrs. O 1 Possum : "1 certatnly no. THEY ARE UNDER AGB + " 

matron who declines to pay at all, as Mr. 

Barnes imagines. 

Mr. E, D. Lance , in the next draw- 
ing, celebrates the eternal feminine. The 
duckling, not yet wholly out of its Easter 
egg-shell; already coquets with the mirror 
of the pond, and considers trimmings for 
what is left of the shell. 

The monkey - dentist interviewed by 
the rhinoceros seems ready to face a large 
responsibility, Suppose the toothache 
does chance to be external, what will he 
do to the horn ? But perhaps his pro- 
fessional quandary is less distracting than 
that of the frog- tailor, whose task it is to 
suit a dress to the changing complexion 
of a lady chameleon ! 

But birds, after all, make what may be 
called {in the States) the ''heavy jerk " 
in American pictorial animal humour. Cn 
the next page is the disgruntled cock who 
finds cold worms confronting him for 

1 HUNK 1J11.> EAbTiLK HLKNMT j- , . \ . ,. 

Needs mokk TKiMMiNG on the dinner, and the sparrow who is dis- 
aiDE." respectful of the balloon -like chests of 

the pouter pigeons* 

Hippo* : ' 

Dr, Monk : * 
Vol *TyL-J2. 









Very good, too., are the sketches of a pair 
of spar iows going visiting to an old pair of 
trousers, and find- 
ing nobodyin- of the 
comp lacen t spar r o w 
who, having built 
its nest in a motor- 
car lamp j coolly 
adopts the number 
for his address ; and 
of the parental 
drudge who has 
nursed a fractious 
egg all night. 

And lastly, we 
cannot but smile 
at the vision of 
the wily alligator who fraudulently repre- 
sents his gaping mouth as the entrance 

to the most in- 
teresting show 
on the beach ! 
VV h o can 
deny f after 
glancing at 
these sketches, 
that the animal 
world enjoys 
many happy 

Sparrow t u cee 



moments and has a keen sense of humour ? 
Of course t it may be said that in certain cases 
the artist has given too free a rein to his 
imagination, but these scoffers should a 

few a ft er noons at 
the nearest Zoologi- 
cal Gardens. If they 
have a camera with 
them, and are 
patient, they will 
^ secure a number of 
amusing pictures 
which should dispel 
that illusion for 
eve^ And in so 
doing they, too, 
will enjoy their 
happy moments. 










' AL i, ABOAjE&riqinalifemJWAY." 



Corot c 



Jilus irek tea Ay 



T was getting on for 
o'clock in the evening when 
Major Thompson came in to 
see Tom Mandeville, They 
had been friends for years, 
and it was through Thompson 
that Mandeville had heard 
of the practice at Hampton which had turned 
out so badly for him. He had bought one in 
that particular locality on account of Margery 
Thwaites, who lived a few miles away at 
Thorn well. Nevertheless they were not 
engaged , for Margery , though she was very 
pretty, was strangely shrewd. She was 
aware that marrying a poor doctor was likely 
to end in disaster- As she was a friend of 
Thompson's , he knew the whole situation. 

(i Well, how arc things going ? " he asked, 
anxiously, when he came into Mandeville's 

" As badly as they can/ 1 replied Mandeville, 
gloomily. " But I've just had a letter from 

Grimes was the doctor from whom Mande- 
ville had bought the practice. 

M Oh f you have, have you ? " said Thomp- 
son, " Well, what has he to say ? " 
" He's dead," replied Mandeville. 
" Surely he didn't write to say so ? " said 
Thompson , starting. 

" It amounts to that/' said Mandeville, 
11 for he knew he was dying, and wrote that 

he wanted to confess to having cheated me 
about the practice. It's a miserable letter, 
He wanted money badly for his wife, and, 
knowing his condition, he faked the books 
deliberately. You can read the letter if you 
like. His wife's, too, She sent his on 

He passed them over to the Major, 

" You're certainly having a rotten run of 
luck/' saki Thompson. "It was hard enough 
on you to get let in for this practice, but for 
your mother to lose that money through a 
dishonest trustee was very hard." 

M Yes/' said Mandeville, £( and I've got a 
letter from her too. On top of all the rest, 
she put money into that company of old 
Hollo ways — the one that went wrong the 
other day — and she's lost it," 

1 By Jove I " said Thompson, 

" I don't think I shall be able to hold on 
here," said Mandeville. 

" Oh, you must," said Thompson ; * f you're 
beginning to get popular. 1 ' 

" Popular ! " said Mandeville, savagely, 
*' I£ I'd been able to keep that motor some- 
thing might have been done, but the snobs 
here look sideways at a motor-bicycle." 

Thompson laughed. 

" No doubt a doctor on a bike isn't exactly 
the god in the car that the inhabitants of this 
town look for. And the whole country is 
reeking with WftfiiStf who wallow in money," 





said Thompson , irrelevantly, 1( Look at old 

Holloway lived in a big bouse not very far 
from Hampton, though it was nearer Thorn- 
well He was a retired tradesman who began 
by selling jam in the East-end. When he 
got on he built a factory 3 which was still in the 
East -end, and by a stroke of genius he called 
it The Farm, It was more like a gas-works 
than a farm, hut nevertheless his jams, 
" Fresh from the Farm/' did extremely well, 
and when he turned the thing into a company, 
and to amuse himself became a company 
promoter, he was worth the best part of a 
million. His firm's carts, with *' Fresh from 
the Farm " in gold letters, were familiar 
objects in London. 

i( Oh, Holloway/' said Mandevillc— " well, 

I dare say he*s an old scoundrel, but he's 
not a bad sort in his way, Margery really 
likes him, though her real pal in the house 
is Mrs. Holloway, who's a dear* I wonder 
what old Holloway lives for? tT 

As a matter of fact. Holloway lived for his 
only child, a boy of eight. 

" What's he live for ? Oh, he lives for the 
kid/' said Thompson. il Thinks of nothing 
else* Savage makes a lot of money out of 
Hollo way's boy. It's a pity he isn't your 
patient ; you'd be over there in a car every 
other day- If his finger aches they telephone 
for Savage, Indeed, they sent for him one 
day when the youngster refused to eat jam/' 

" Was it ' Fresh from the Farm ' ? " asked 
Mandoville, laughing for the first time. 
" Perhaps lie T ii had too much of it." 




" Perhaps," said Thompson, pensively. 
" On my soul, Mandeville, I should like to 
rob old Holloway. He's got some wonderful 
things in that library of his. I don't know 
whether you've been in it ? " 

" I've never been near the house more than 
once since he had it," said Mandeville, " but 
I used to go there when I was a boy." 

" Ah," said Thompson, " I tell you, he's 
got Dresden china there that would make 
the experts sit up, and pictures worth any 
money. I don't know much about art, but 
I believe there was a blighter called Corot 
who did very pretty things. He's got one or 
two of those, and a little one by the mantel- 
piece must be worth thousands in the market. 
Last week Holloway let me take an American 
over there to see them, and I could hardly 
keep his American hands off it. He wanted 
to buy it, but of course Holloway refused." 

" What American was that ? " asked Mande- 
ville. " Was it the one you were about with 
lately ? " 

"That's the chap," nodded Thompson. 
" A very good sort, but an awful scoundrel. 
He said to me, as we came away in his car, 
1 For a row of pins I'd burgle the house, 
Thompson, and steal that picture. If you 
happen to know a burglar who'd do it for you, 
I'll give you three thousand for the canvas 
without the frame, if you get him to throw 
in that Dresden group in the little cabinet/ " 

" Did he mean it ? " asked Mandeville, idly. 

11 He meant it all right," said Thompson. 
" I asked him, and he replied, ' My dear 
Major, I'm known as Say-it-and-mean-it 
Baker of Milwaukee. My word is a great 
deal better than my bond, and far, far better 
than my character.' " 

" Ah," said Mandeville, " it's a pity we 
can't oblige him. I shouldn't mind getting 
even with Holloway now, although he's so 
nice to Margery. He hasn't behaved well 
over this company. A man in his position 
ought to have put up a hundred thousand 
pounds, to say the least of it ; and now I'm 
suffering and my mother suffers." 

*' Egg on Margery to talk to him," said 

But Mandeville shook his head. 

" It's no good," he said. " She and his wife 
have been at him for months past about that 
cottage hospital. And he's the only really 
rich man about here." 

" I don't believe he's half so bad as he 
seems," said Thompson. " But you've got 
to hang on here, if you rob his house and sell 
his pictures to Baker of Milwaukee, who 
always says what he means and means what 

Vol. xlvi.-g. 

he says. So buck up if you want to get 

Mandeville had to take a dose of bromide 
that night before he could sleep. Towards 
the morning he dreamed. He found himself 
upon his bicycle going as hard as he could 
pelt through a heavy storm to Holloway's 
house. He had no idea how he came upon 
the road, but suddenly found himself driving 
into the gale. He did not know the road very 
well, and yet in this dream he saw every detail 
of it. He was nearly at the house before he 
knew why he was going there in this dream, 
and when he knew he laughed. Then there 
was a gap, as there so often is in dreams. 

He found himself inside the house, which was 
full of beautiful things, of valuable furniture. 
He wandered all over the house, and in the 
end found himself in the room with a Corot 
in his hands, the Corot that Baker wanted at 
any price, honestly or dishonestly. Then he 
found himself back in his own room in his 
own house with the picture. He locked it 
up, and was then aware that he had left 
his bicycle planted in the hedge outside 
Holloway's grounds. He went back to look 
for it, and had got half-way to Holloway's 
when he woke up in his own bed. 

He was not in good health, and was a man 
of nervous temperament. This dream had a 
strange effect upon him. He knew something 
of dream psychology; he had read more of 
Freud than most English doctors, for he knew 
German. He had listened to Thompson's idle 
talk about Baker and this Corot without pay- 
ing much attention to it, yet now it seemed 
to him that the seed had taken root. 

In the morning he received a letter from 
his mother. She had herself written to Mr. 
Holloway, pointing out the position in which 
she was placed by the failure of a company 
for which he was obviously responsible. 
Whether it was that Holloway's secretary was 
away or not, this letter had been answered by 
Holloway himself. His reply was anything 
but courteous, and amounted to a general 
statement that people who speculated must 
sometimes expect to lose their money. 

As he read this letter Mandeville wondered 
if Holloway knew the person to whom he 
wrote was the mother of the doctor over at 
Bampton. It was possible, but not likely. 
If he did know, the tone of his letter might 
have been influenced in some way by the fact 
that the old jam manufacturer had shown 
himself very hostile to Mandeville with regard 
to Margery Thwaites. He felt that to get 
even with Holloway was about all that 
remayftfrJ^FYOf MICHIGAN 



As Mandeville was thinking of this he turned 
over his mother's letter and found a post- 
script on the last page which he had not 
before noticed, \\ ran : " Oh, my dear boy, 
I am so grieved I- never told you I was two 
quarters behind with the rent ; and after 
this I really don't know what to do. Can 
you lend me the money to pay it ? " 

He ate nothing that morning. His break- 
fast consisted of a cup of coffee. It seemed 
that everything that could go wrong had gone 
wrong, and truly that was so as far as big 
things were concerned, but during the day a 
hundred little disasters assailed him. 

The night came at last, and he was alone. 
Thompson did not come in. His mind 
worked strangely. At times he felt quite 
calm as though nothing mattered, and then 
again he was in a strange state of fury. He 
felt like a beast in the nets, a trapped animal. 
He walked about his room in agitation. Once 
or twice he took up a paper and tried to read 
it, but did not understand a word of what he 
read. He took down a book and put it back 
again. He took down another, by chance a 
copy of Hudson's " Purple Land." He 
opened it at an old favourite chapter, and 
read what Manuel, also called " The Fox/' 
said to Anselmo : " If Providence is angry 
against the entire human race, and is anxious 
to make an example, I know not for what 
reason so harmless and obscure a person as 
I am should have been selected." 

This passage had often made him laugh, 
and he laughed now with a strange bitterness. 
He put the book back on the shelf and again 
took up the paper. His eyes lighted on the 
words, " The Sale at Christie's." This was 
an account of a sale of pictures, and under- 
neath the heading there was a subheading, 
" Record Prices." He read the first para- 
graph blankly, for what his eye saw was not 
wholly reported to his brain. But presently 
he woke up, for he read the word " Corot." 
A good, a supremely good example of Corot, 
although it was a very small picture, had 
been sold for two thousand pounds. 

" And Hollo way has half-a-dozen of them," 
said Mandeville, " and one ' a supremely good 
example.' And he's got money, unlimited 
money, and a dear little wife, and a beautiful 
boy. And Margery Thwaites is his wife's 
friend. Some men have everything, and 
others have nothing." 

For himself he, did not understand how his 
mind worked, or what was going on in him. 
He was aware that something brewed in him, 
that something was being done. He was 
like a writer who sometimes repeats, it may 

be for weeks or months, a phrase, a sentence, 
knowing not whence it comes or what it fits, 
and at last begins to write in a strange fury 
of passion something which seems given to 
him ; and to his amazement this solitary 
phrase fits into the puzzle and is, indeed, the 
whole cause and the solution at once. For 
this is the work of the brain, which creates in 
secret even during sleep, a ceaseless mind that 
never rests. 

He heard the wind blow. He had noticed 
that day the signs of a coming gale, and 
now he heard the sough of the wind. 
The rain, too, fell heavily. He heard it 
thrown by the gusts across his window that 
fitted ill and let in the draughts. He went 
outside, taking a lantern with him and came 
to the stable where he kept his motor-bicycle. 
There he put on overalls and a mackintosh. 
He saw a strap hanging up, a strap that the 
previous tenant had left. Mechanically and 
with no formed intention, or with no formu- 
lated intention, he rolled it up and put it in 
his pocket. It would do to strap anything 
with. It would be useful to fasten something 
to his bicycle if he had anything to fasten to 
it. He opened his tool-box and looked in. 
The things that he needed were there ; 
wrenches, a screw-driver. One could do much 
with that screw-driver, so his mind told him. 

He wheeled the bicycle out into the deserted 
road, ran it a yard or two, and when it fired 
jumped into the saddle. His mind worked 
furiously, and he went at a pace to which he 
was not accustomed. The night was dark as 
pitch, the roads muddy and dangerous, yet 
he never slackened his pace although he knew 
that he risked his life at every moment. 

But a man's mind is a manifoldness ; he 
knows little of the working of his deep 
consciousness. The brain gives but vague 
outward suggestion of the processes that are 
going on within it. Even as he faced the 
weather and went headlong through the dark- 
ness he thought of certain irrelevant things, 
things connected with his profession, points 
he had read lately. He thought of his own 
people, of his youth, of the old hard and yet 
hopeful days when he lived in Lambeth and 
worked at St. Thomas's. Margery came into 
his mind, his hopes came, his mother, his 

Deeper than all these things there was some- 
thing in him which directed the way. It was 
eleven o'clock and after when he was aware 
that he was heading straight for Holloway's 
with a purpose which he did not formulate 
and purposely left undefined. 

As he went he now said things to himself. 



He kept repeating little phrases, some of 
which he hardly understood ; words, new 
words that he had come across lately. One 
of them was hypnopompic, a word that means 
the sleep procession, which in its way was as 
irrelevant or as illogical as life itself. He was 
now in a dream procession. He was the 
dreamer and the dream. Fate dreamt him. 
Suddenly he said to himself, " Say-it-and- 
mean-it Baker." Then he laughed. He 
said again, " Baker of Milwaukee," and kept 
on repeating " Baker of Milwaukee." Then 
suddenly in front of him he saw the gates 
which led down to Holloway's big house, 
through the avenue planted hundreds of years 
before by a great extinct family. 

This avenue was really the back way to the 
house, which was two hundred yards inside 
the boundary. When Mandeville reached the 
gate he got off his bicycle, opened his tool- 
box, took out his big screw-driver, put it in 
his pocket, and hid his bicycle inside a field 
opposite the gates. Presently he came to 
the garden, -after passing through part of 
the field where Holloway had laid out 
miniature golf-links. There was a little gate 
at the first tee, which led into the garden. 
Mandeville went through this gate and closed 
it quietly. He walked straight to the library 
just beyond the big cedar, the room in which 
Holloway kept his greatest treasures. Now 
he noticed there was a little light in one of 
the rooms at the top of the house. Probably 
it was a servant's room. He paid no atten- 
tion to it, for the lower part of the house was 
quite dark. 

He went to the library window and stood 
for a moment listening. He meant to force 
the door with the screw-driver, and took it 
out of his pocket. He laid his hand upon the 
fastening. The moment he touched the door 
it opened of itself ; it was not even latched. 
It seemed that fate was helping him. He had 
made no plans — truly, he had done no thinking 
that night, for what he had been through 
mentally was hardly thought. But now he 
gave himself no time, but went straight across 
the room to the farther end by the side of the 
fireplace. The picture he meant to take hung 
there. H£ struck a match and saw it. He 
lifted it from the nail and turned towards 
the cabinet where the Dresden china was. 
But at that moment he heard a step outside 
in the hall, and suddenly the door opened. 
He stood where he was, motionless, paralyzed, 
the picture in his hand. 

Time lasted long. It seemed an incredible 
time until the person opening the door really 
entered. The telephone was in the library 

at the far table near the door. Perhaps some- 
body was coming to use it. They would see 
him. This, then, was ruin, ruin absolute and 
final. Well, if so, what could a man expect 
who had had such luck ? There was a strange 
grin upon his face, bitter, sardonic. He shifted 
the picture into his left hand and took the 
screw-driver in his right. For one savage 
moment he thought of striking down the 
person who came in. If he was not recog- 
nized he might escape. 

But as soon as the door was opened the 
light from the hall showed that a woman 
came in — a slender, lithe, and girlish figure. 
Instantly she put her hand to the electric 
switch which was close to the door. She 
did not look round towards him ; she went 
straight to the telephone, and the door closed 
automatically. He saw who it was. Yes, yes 
— it was Margery Thwaites' ! 

He had very keen senses. As she had 
rushed into the room she brought in with her 
an odour, faint and yet powerful, far-reaching, 
indicative. His nostrils dilated. He tasted 
the odour in his mind. There was someone 
ill in the house — this was the odour of iodo- 
form. He wondered, and still stood motion- 
less, frozen into rigidity. He had not known 
that Margery was in the house. She was 
going to telephone for somebody, for some- 
thing, and in a moment would no doubt turn 
and see him. Then she would scream, the 
house would be alarmed. It would be a great 
alarm to her, a terrible shock. She might do 
anything. He could not foretell the result. 

And all the time he smelt the iodoform, and 
wondered who was ill, and whom it was she 
was going to telephone for, and why she was 
going to telephone at all. He watched her. 
She sat down at the table, rang up, put the 
receiver to her ear and was answered. He 
heard the vague, faint voice of the answering 
operator at the exchange at Thornwell. 

" I want 156 Thornwell," she sard, urgently. 
" Give it me quickly, for Heaven's sake ! " 

He knew that the number was Dr. Savage's. 

In a moment she got through, and asked, 
" Is that Dr. Savage ? '* 

Again there was the little mumble of the 
answering voice. 

" Not in ?— not in ? " said Margery. " Oh, 
when will he be in ? Can't you get him ? " 

Evidently they did not know. She cut 
them off and rang up another number, the 
number of another doctor in Thornwell, and 
again the same answer was returned, and 
Margery cried out aloud. 

" Oh," she said, " isn't anybody in ? 

8 4 


And then a strange thing happened, or so 
it seemed to Mandeville, and yet it was not 
strange after all. She rang up again, and 
said, " Give me 126 Bampton." 

That was Mandeville's own number. He 
waited, but still did not move. He might 
have been a carven man save for the strange 
anxiety and tension of his eyes. Perhaps his 
housekeeper would not hear the telephone 
bell, or if she heard it might not rise, even 
though she knew the doctor was out. Never- 
theless, he heard presently that she did come 
to the 'phone. 

" What ? " said Margery. " Is Dr. 
Mandeville out, too ? What shall I do ? 
What shall I do ? " 

She dropped the receiver on the desk and 
sprang to her feet. It seemed as if she had 
heard something, or as if her instinct had told 
her at last that somebody was there, that she 
was not alone. Perhaps Mandeville had 
breathed heavily, or made some little motion. 
She saw him there plainly. He was holding 
a picture in his hand. There was something 
in his right hand, too. She did not know 
what it was, but she knew that this was her 
lover, Tom Mandeville. It seemed a hallu- 
cination, not real ; something dreamed, 
imagined — something that came out of her 
tense anxiety. She had summoned him, and 
here he was — and yet, was he here ? 

She rubbed her eyes and looked again, and 
there he stood as white as death, staring at 
her. He was the man she loved, although 
she had never told him so. She was naturally 
strong, naturally reticent. She had diffi- 
culties with herself. She found it hard to 
speak even when her emotions bade her 
speak. This was her strength, as it was 
often her sorrow. She, too, went as pale as 
death, but she did not scream. She waited a 
long second and knew that he was real. He 
nodded to her strangely, turned about, hung 
up the picture on the nail again, and put the 
screw-driver in his pocket. He turned again, 
and stood before her with bowed head, 

And she said : "Dr. Mandeville — Tom — 
what are you doing here ? " 

He answered very simply : " Yes — what ? " 

He looked for any answer, he was prepared 
for anything, however awful ; for she might 
say cruel things, seeing that she must under- 
stand. And yet, deep in his mind, far down 
in it, there was a little hope, too. She wanted 
him urgently — there was that smell of 

" I may be very useful/' said Tom 
Mandeville to himself ; " I may be wanted." 

And yet that was a little far-off thought ; 
a faint, almost indistinguishable light in 
awful darkness. His real, outward mind, 
his consciousness with which he apprehended 
her immediately, was amazed when she spoke ; 
for she cried out suddenly, with a strange 
light in her eyes : " Oh, I'm glad you've 
come. Thank God ! Thank God ! Come 
with me upstairs, Tom, the boy is dying." 

" Ah! "said Mandeville. 

When a man is mad, quite insane, altogether 
out of himself, he will often answer to a 
normal appeal made to him by someone in 
natural authority. This was a normal appeal 
to Mandeville. Somebody was dying. People 
were in great distress. This boy who was 
ill, the child about whom Holloway's life 
circled, the child for whom he was little 
better than a thief — a high-placed scoundrel 
who might be placed higher yet. 

" Dying ? " said Mandeville. His face 
became less like a strained and carven mask. 
His eyes lighted again with a human light. 
He wrinkled his face as though with a desire 
to feel his rigid muscles move. He came back 
to himself. He was a man on.ce more, a 
physician. He spoke in a perfectly natural 
way, as one who asked for information 
quickly when quickness was necessary. 

He said : " Now, Margery, you tell me the 
boy's dying. What's wrong with him ? " 

She cried out : " It's diphtheria, and he's 
choking. I can't get Dr. Savage or anyone. 
Come upstairs with me now." 

She took him by the arm, and as he went 
he said : " Yes, yes — but how will you 
explain my coming so quickly ? " 

" Never mind that," she said. " Never 
mind that — I can explain." 

" You understand why ? " he asked. 

" Oh, yes ; I understand," said Margery. 
" I've heard several things. That doesn't 
matter — come upstairs. Thank God you've 
come ! " 

He said no more, but went with her. When 
they got to the first-floor landing a door stood 
open opposite to them. Through it he heard 
certain sounds that he had heard before, and 
he saw old Hollo way standing by the door 
with his hands clenched in his hnir as if he 
would tear it out. Suddenly the old man 
cried aloud, and yet it was not like a human 
cry, it was something almost bestial, like the 
yelp of a tortured cur. Mandeville passed 
him and saw Mrs. Hollo way on her knees by 
the bed. On the other sidfc the nurse was 
standing. Mandeville judged her on the 
moment ; she was probably useless, most 
likely not properly trained. 






by Google 

Original from 



Margery said : " Here's Dr. Mandeville." 

He went straight to the bed, thrusting aside 
Mrs. Holloway, who caught hold of him. He 
looked down at the boy and saw him choking, 
cyanosed, blue with oncoming death. The 
child was struggling for life, with the veins 
in his neck turgid and knotted, the face 
swollen and almost black. 

" When did this come on ? " asked Mande- 

" Half an hour ago, sir," said the nurse. 

Yes, she was a bad nurse — there were tears 
in her eyes. By now a good nurse with her 
wits about her would have done a tracheotomy 
on the boy, if she had had to do it with a pen- 
knife. Old Holloway kept on speaking to 
him, and caught him by the arm as he was 
taking off his coat. Mandeville pushed him 
in the chest ; then he laid hold of him and 
thrust, almost threw, him out of the room 
and pushed his wife after him. He locked 
the door on them. 

If the nurse was a poor thing Margery was 
now extraordinarily cool. She did things, 
and did the right thing. He saw her with a 
basin and a bundle of sterilized wool ; she 
had an open bottle of lysol on the table. He 
had no instruments ; what was to be done 
must be done at once. He put his hand in 
his pocket and took out his pen-knife, which 
he always kept very sharp. Then he made a 
strong solution of lysol in the basin. There 
was a spirit-lamp on the table. He struck a 
match and lighted it, and passed the little 
blade of his knife through the flame. Then 
he wetted it with lysol, wiped it with the 
sterilized wool, and passed it through the 
flame again and threw it into the lysol 
solution. He looked about him, and suddenly 
saw what he wanted. Margery wore in her 
hair square-headed tortoiseshell hair-pins 
that matched its colour. He reached his 
hand out, took one from her hair, and threw 
it in the basin. Then with a pad of the wool 
and the disinfectant he disinfected the skin 
of the boy's neck. 

" Bring that electric lamp close," he said 
to the nurse. 

She held it close, but her hand shook. He 
turned to Margery. 

" You hold it, Margery." And she held it 

" You needn't look," said Mandeville. " If 
you can't stand the sight, shut your eyes." 

But she did not shut them, and watched 
him there and then do a tracheotomy with 
his pocket-knife. There is no such dramatic 
incident in all surgery, which has many such 
moments, as a tracheotomy done when the 

patient is as near death as Holloway 's child. 
One moment the boy was blue, with a con- 
gested face, struggling horribly, at the very 
edge of death. And then, as the knife passed 
through the tracheal ring, there was a little 
gurgle, a splutter. Mandeville reached out 
and, taking the hair-pin, thrust it into the 
operation - wound and turned it sideways. 
He tied it securely with a tape. The boy's 
breath whistled audibly. He took a deep 
inspiration. His aspect changed with wonder- 
ful rapidity ; his blood was drinking oxygen 
at last. The colour of life came back into his 
face ; it grew peaceful, comfortable. The 
child seemed instantly to pass from struggle 
and painful unconsciousness into an uncon- 
sciousness that was happy, an unconsciousness 
that was little more than that of sleep — a 
pleasant sleep after great fatigue. His skin 
moistened ; there was something on the 
child's face not unlike a smile. 

Mandeville rose to his feet. 

" That's all right," he said, with satis- 

He wiped his knife with a little of the wool, 
closed it, and dropped it into his pocket. He 
turned to Margery, who put the lamp down 
and for the first time trembled. 

" Oh, Tom ! " she said. " Tom ! " 

He went round the bed and took her in his 
arms ; but he said : " Now go downstairs at 
once and ring up Smith or Savage and tell 
them to come out instantly with a tracheo- 
tomy tube. For the time being the boy's 
all right ; he won't die now.". 

Margery half choked. 

" Thank God you came ! " she said. 

" Yes," said Mandeville. " But go, do what 
I tell you. I'll speak to the others." 

He found Holloway and his wife outside. 
The old man was standing by the banisters, 
clutching them with both hands. Mrs. 
Holloway was on the floor holding him round 
the knees. Mandeville was glad he had good 
news to give them. 

" Mr. Holloway," he said. 

" Yes," said Holloway. " Is — is the boy 
dead ? " 

" No," said Mandeville, " and I don't 
suppose he'll die.". 

He smiled over the banisters at Margery as 
she went downstairs. 

" Not die ? " said Holloway, feebly. " Oh, 
won't die, eh ? " He took his wife by the 
hand and said, almost crossly : " Get up, 
Mary. What are you doing on the floor ? 
The boy's all right ; the doctor says so." 

Jtfrs. Holloway rose and did not speak, but 
she t°°k Mundeville's hand and kissed it. 

University of Michigan 



by Google 

Original from 





He felt very much ashamed of himself and 
turned away. Then he said : — 

" In a minute you shall come in." 

He went back into the sick-room. 

" Nurse, give me a clean handkerchief/' he 

He took one and laid it lightly across the 
projecting prongs of the hair-pin that kept 
the operation-wound open, leaving the child's 
face visible. It was the face of a sleeping 
child. He called the father and mother in. 

" You may see him for a moment," he said. 

And Mrs. Holloway knelt by the bedside, 
while the old man laid hold of the bed-rail 
at the foot and stood there and nodded. And 
Margery came up again. 

" I got through to Dr. Savage. He's • 
bringing it at once," she said. 

" That's all right," replied Mandeville. He 
put his coat on. " And now I think you'd 
all better leave the room," he said. " I and 
the nurse will stay with him till Dr. Savage 

They went out of the room all together, 
and old Holloway suddenly said : — 

" How was it you got here so soon, Dr. 
Mandeville ? I — I don't quite understand it." 

Margery answered for the doctor. 

"He came over to see me, Mr. Holloway. 
I'd promised to write to him, and I hadn't 
done it. I'll tell Mary all about it afterwards, 
and she can tell you. I'm going to marry 
Dr. Mandeville even if he is a poor man." 

Mandeville knew well that Holloway had 
desired her to marry somebody else who was 
not a poor man. But now the old man 
suddenly burst into tears. He sobbed like a 
child. Then he said : " By Heaven ! Margery, 
but he isn't a poor man if I know it — he isn't 
a poor man ! I — I want to do something 
for everyone," 

And Mary Holloway spoke what was in her 

" Then, John, won't you build that 
hospital now ? " 

He took her in his arms. " Why, of course, 
I will, and the doctor here shall run it. Oh, 
yes, I'll do that — why, of course, I'll do it, 
woman ! " And again he broke down, and 
turned away and sat upon the stairs, still 

Just then they heard the sound of a motor, 
and in a minute Dr. Savage came upstairs 
with the tracheotomy tube, and he and 
Mandeville inserted it. The boy had a good 
chance, or so it seemed. 

It was one o'clock before Margery said 

by {j 



good-bye to Mandeville in the library where 
the telephone was. He said to her : " But 
you know why I came, and what I came for ? " 

" Yes, I know," she said. " I know. You 
have had very great trouble. Major Thompson 
told me about it." 

" It's true I've had trouble," he said. " It 
broke me down — it quite broke me down. 
I had such a run of bad luck. Is it over now, 
Margery ? " 

" I love you," she said. " I always did. 
Is that enough, Tom ? " 

" It is enough," said Mandeville. 

He took her in his arms and kissed her, and 
walked down the avenue. He did not know 
himself ; he was a changed man. The whole 
world had altered ; for he was light and 
happy and sane. Life was a miracle, and 
most wonderful ; and Margery was very 
wonderful ; and love the most wonderful 
thing of all. He wiped away a tear, and yet 
was very happy. 

He took his bicycle out of the hedge where 
he had hidden it, and went back to Bampton. 
But he did not go straight home ; he took a 
little circuit and came past Thompson's 
house. Late as it was there was a light in the 
Major's room, for Thompson slept badly, and 
often read very late. So Mandeville got off 
his bicycle, and finding some gravel threw 
it up at the window. Presently Thompson 
put his head out. 

" Halloa, Mandeville, what's wrong now ? " 

" Nothing's wrong," said Mandeville. " It's 
all right." 

" What's all right ? " asked Thompson. 

" Everything," said Mandeville. " I've 
been over to Holloway's." 

" The deuce you have ! " said Thompson. 
" What for ? " 

" The boy was dying," said Mandeville. 
" I suppose I saved his life." 

" Good for you," said the Major. 

" And the old man's going to build that 
hospital, Thompson." 

"The deuce he is!" said Thompson. "I 
guess you'll be all right with him now, and 
with everybody else." 

" It may be so," said Mandeville, quietly. 
" And it's all right about Margery." 

" Oh, by Jove ! " said Thompson ; " I 
don't think you'll want to burgle the house 
for that Corot after all, Mandeville." 

" I think not," said Mandeville. " Baker 
of Milwaukee's got to do without it." 

" So he has — poor old Baker of Milwaukee!" 
said Thompson. 

Original from 




Bij OHei\ru 

Illustrated i>xj 


some Sables 

blander! n' 

**Wm . 


1>K "KID.' 

Vol ilv-_iO. 

HEN u Kid " Brady was sent 
to the ropes by Molly 
Mc Kee ver's blue - black eyes 
he withdrew from the Stove- 
pipe Gang. So much for 
the power of a colleen's 
tongue and stubborn true- 
If you are a man who read this 
may such an influ- 
ence be sent you 
before two o'clock 
to-morrow; if you 
are n woman, may 
your Pomeranian 
greet you this morn- 
ingwith a cold nose — 
a sign of dog-health 
and your happiness. 
The Stovepipe 
Gang borrowed its 
name from a sub- 
district of the city, 
called the M Stove- 
pipe/* which is a 
narrow and natural 
extension of thefami- 
liar district known as 
" Hell's Kitchen." 

The members of 
this uncharted but 
w i d e 1 y - known 
brotherhood ap- 
peared to pass their 


time at street corners, arrayed like the lilies of 
the conservatory , and busy with nail files and 
pen-knives. Thus displayed as a guarantee 
of good faith, they carried on an innocu- 
ous conversation in a two- hundred- word 
vocabulary, to the casual observer as innocent 
and immaterial as that heard in Lhe clubs 
seven blocks to the east. 

But off exhibition the u Stovepipes " were 
not mere street-corner ornaments addicted to 
posing and manicuring. Their serious occu- 
pation was the separating of citizens from their 
coin and valuables. Preferably this was done 
by weird and singular tricks, without noise 
or bloodshed ; but whenever the citizen 
honoured by their attentions refused to 
impoverish himself gracefully his objections 
cam? to be spread finally upon some police- 
station blotter or hospital register. 

The police held the Stovepipe Gang in 
perpetual suspicion and respect. As the 
nightingale's liquid note is heard in the 
deepest shadows, so, along the " Stovepipes " 
dark and narrow confines, the whistle for 
help punctures the dull ear of night. When- 
ever there was smoke in the i4 Stovepipe/' 
the tasselled men in blue knew there was 
fire in " Hell's Kitchen/' • 

" Kid " Brack promised Molly to be good. 

" Kid \]\mm 'vmtoLmm™&*-> *»» 




wariest, and the most successful plotter in 
the gang. Therefore the boys were sorry to 
give him up, But they witnessed his fall 
to a virtuous life without protest, For, in 
the Kitchen, it is considered neither unmanly 
nor improper for a man to do as his girl 

Black her eye for love's sake, if you will ; 
but it is all-to-the-good business to do a thing 
when she wants you to do it. 

•* Turn off the hydrant/' said the Kid, one 
night when Molly, tearful, besought him to 
amend his ways. " Tm going to cut the 
gang. You lie mine, and III go straight. 
I'll tell you, Moll- 1*11 get work ; and in 
a year we'll get married. I'll do it for 
you. We'll get a flat and a flute and a 
sewing-machine, and live as honest as we' 

* ( Oh, Kid!" sighed Molly, wiping the 
powder off his shoulder with her handkerchief, 
£t I'd rather hear you say that than own all 
New York. And we can be happy on so 
little ! " 

The Kid looked dawn at his speckless cuffs 
and shining patent-leathers with a suspicion 
of melancholy* 

" It'll hurt hardest in the rags department/ * 

said he, tl I've kind of always liked to rig 
out swell when I could. You know how I 
hate cheap things, Moll. Anything in the 
wearing apparel line has got to be just so, or 
it's no good for me. If I work I won't have 
so much coin to hand over to the little man 
with the big shears." 

" Never mind, Kid. I'll like you just as 
much in a blue jumper as 1 would in a red 

Before the Kid had grown large enough to 
knock out his father he had been compelled 
to iearn the plumber's art. So now back to 
this honourable and useful profession he 
returned. But it was as an assistant that he 
engaged himself ; and it is the master plumber 
and not the assistant who wears diamonds as 
large as hailstones and looks contemptuously 
upon the marble colonnades of millionaires' 

Eight months went by as smoothly &nd 
surely as though they had " elapsed ,? on a 
theatre programme. The Kid worked away 
at his pipes and solder with no symptoms of 
backsliding. The Stovepipe Gang continued 
its piracy on the high avenues, cracked police- 
men's heads, held up late travellers, invented 


_. UtfcUVERSI 





new methods of peaceful plundering, copied 
Fifth Avenue's cut of clothes and neckwear 
fancies, and comported itself according to its 
lawless bylaws. But the Kid stood firm and 
faithful to his Molly, even though the polish 
was gone from his finger-nails and it took 
him fifteen minutes to tie his purple silk ascot 
so that the worn places would not show. 

One evening he brought a mysterious 
bundle with him to Molly's house, 

" Open that, Moll ! . " he said, in his large, 
quiet way, " It*s for you." 

Molly's eager fingers tore off the wrappings. 
She shrieked aloud, 
and in rushed a 
sprinkling of little 
McKeevers and Ma 
McKeever, dish- 
washy, but an unde- 
niable relative of the 
late Mrs. Eve. 

Again Molly 
shrieked, and some- 
thing dark and long 
and sinuous flew and 
enveloped her neck 
like an anaconda* 

" Russian sables/ 3 
said the Kid, pride- 
fully, enjoying the 
sight of Molly's round 
cheek against the 
clinging fur. "The 
real thing. They 
don't grow anything 
in Russia too good 
for you ; Moll/' 

Molly plunged her 
hands into the muff, 
overturned a row of 
family infants, and 
flew to the mirror. 
Hint for the beauty 
column : To make 

bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and a bewitch- 
ing smile Recipe : one set Russian sables. 
When they were alone, Molly became aware 


v. . 


of a small cake of 
sense floating down 

*■ You Ye a bird, 
admitted, gratefully, 



of common- 
tide of her 

all rightj Kid/' she 
I never had any furs 

on before in my life. But ain't Russian 
sables awful expensive ? Seems to me I've 
heard they were/* 

Have I ever chucked any bargain-sale 
asked the Kid, with 
you ever notice me 

d by GOOgle 

stuff at you, Moll ? 
calm dignity, " Did 

leaning on the bargain-counter or peering in 
the remnant window ? Call that scarf two 
hundred and fifty dollars and the muff a 
hundred and seventy-five, and you won't 
make any mistake about the price of Russian 
sables. The swell goods for me. Say, they 
look fine on you, Moll." 

Molly hugged the sables to her bosom in 
rapture- And then her smile went away 
little by little, and she looked the Kid straight 
in the eye sadly and steadily. 

He knew what every look of hers meant ; 
and he laughed, with a faint flush upon his 

— "Stop that!" he 
said , with affection- 
ate roughness, " I 
told you I was done 
with that. I bought 
'em and pait], for 'em 
all right, with my own 

"Out of the 
money you worked 
for, Kid ? Out of 
seventy-five dollars a 
month? " 

" Sure, I've been 
saving up/' 

11 Let's see — saved 
four hundred and 
twenty - five dollars 
in eight months. 
Kid ? " 

" Ah, let up/' said 
Kid, with some heat. 
11 1 had some money 
when I went to 
work. Do you think 
I've been holding 
T em up again ? 1 
told you Id quit. 
They Ye paid for on 
the square. Put 'em 
on and come out for a walk/' 

Molly calmed her doubts. Sables are sooth- 
ing. Proud as a queen she went forth in the 
streets at the Kid's side. In all that region 
of low-lying streets Russian sables had never 
been seen before* The word sped, and doors 
and windows blossomed with heads eager to 
see the swell furs Kid Brady had given his 
girL All down the street there were " OWs " 
and "Ah*s," and the reported fabulous sum 
paid for the sables was passed from lip to lip, 
increasing as it went. At her right elbow 
sauntered the Kid with the air of princes. 
Work had not diminished his love of pomp 
and show and hi? p^s:ncn for the costly and 




genuine* On a corner they saw a group of 
the Stovepipe Gang loafing, immaculate. 
They raised their hats to the Kid's girl and 
went on with their calm, unaccented palaver. 

Three blocks behind the admired couple 
strolled Detective Ransom, of the Central 
Office, Ransom was the only detective in 
the force who could walk abroad with safety 
in the Stovepipe district. He was fair- 
dealing and unafraid, and went there w T ith 
the hypothesis that the inhabitants were 
human. Many liked him, and now and then 
one would yve him a tip about something 
that he wis looking for, 

" What's the excitement down the street ? " 

shop don't match with them skins the Kid's 
girl's got on." 

Ransom overtook the strolling couple on 
an empty street near the river bank. He 
touched the Kids arm from behind. 

M Let me see you a moment, Brady/' he 
said, quietly* His eye rested for a second on 
the long fur scarf thrown stylishly back over 
Molly's left shoulder. The Kid, with his old- 
time police-hating frown on his face, stepped 
a yard or two aside with the detective. 

4t Did you go to Mrs. Hethcote T s in West 
Seventh Street yesterday to mend a leaky- 
water-pipe ? " asked Ransom. 

(t I did," said the Kid. " What of it ? " 


asked Ransom of a pale youth in a red 

" They're out having a look at a set of 
buffalo robes Kid Urady treated his girl to," 
answered the youth, " Some say he paid 
nine hundred dollars for the skins. They're 
.swell all r Split enough/' 

14 I hear Brady lias been working at his old 
trade for nearly a year,*' said the detective. 
" He doesn't travel with the gang any more, 
does he ? " 

il He's workin' all right," said the red 
sweater; ** but— say r sport, are you trailin' 
anything in the fur line ? A job in a plumbin' 


" The lady's thousand-dollar set of Russian 
sables went out of the house about the same 
time you did. The description fits the ones 
this lady has on," 

To h— Harlem with you ! " cried the 


know I've cut that 
I bought them 

Kid, angrily. 

sort of thing. Ransom. 

sables yesterday at " 

The Kid stopped short, 

41 I know you've been 

lately/' said Ransom, 

every chance, I'll go with you where you 

sa v you bought the furs and investigate. 

lady can wear them and come along 

Original from 

working straight 
*' I'll pive you 





with us, and 
nobody' I] be on.* 
T h at ' s f a i r , 

11 Come on," 
agreed the Kid, 
hotly. And then 
he stopped sud- 
denly in his 
tracks and looked 
with an odd smile 
at Molly's dis- 
tressed and 
anxious face, 

"No use," he 
"They're the 
Hethcote sablesj 
all right. You'll 
have to turn 'em 
over, Moll, but 
they ain't too 
good for you if 
they cost a 
Molly, with anguish in her face, hung upon 
the Kid's arm. 

u Oh, Kiddy, you've broke my heart/' she 
said, " I was so proud of you — and now 
they'll do you — and where's our happiness 
gone ? " 

" Go home/' said the Kid, wildly. u Come 
on, Ransom ; take the furs. Let's get away 
from here. Wait a minute -I've a good 
mind to— nOj I'll be dashed if I can do it —run 
along, Moll, I'm ready, Ransom." 

Around the corner of a lumber-yard came 
Policeman Kohen, on his way to his beat 
along the river. The detective signed to 
him for assistance. Kohen joined the group* 
Ransom explained, 

" Sure/' said Kohen, (< I hear about dose 
saples dat vas stole. You sav vou have dem 
Here?" ' ■ 

Policeman Kohen took the end of Molly's 

late scarf in his hands and looked at it closely. 

" Once/' he said, " I sold furs in Sixth 

Avenue, Yes, dese are saples, Dey come 

from Alaska. Dis scarf is worth twelve 

dollars and dis muff " 

" Riff ! " came the palm of the Kid's power- 
ful hand upon the policeman's mouth. Kohen 
staggered and rallied. Molly screamed. The 
detective threw himself upon Brady and, with 
Kohen's aid, got the nippers on his wrist. 

" The scarf is worth twelve dollars, and the 
muff is worth nine dollars/' persisted the 
policeman. " What is dis talk about thou- 
sand-dollar saples ? " 

The Kid sat upon a pile of lumber and his 
face turned dark red. 

11 Correct, Solomski ! " he declared, 
viciously. " I paid twenty-two dollars for 
the set. Fd rather have got six months and 
not have told it, Me, the swell that wouldn't 
look at anything cheap ! I'm a plain bluffer. 
Moll, my salary couldn't spell sables in 

Molly cast herself upon his neck. 

M What do I care for all the sables and money 
in the world ! " she cried, " It's my Kiddy 
I want. Oh, you dear, stuck-up ? crazy 
blockhead ! " 

" You can take dose nippers off/' said 
Kohen to the detective. (l Before I leaf de 
station de report come in dat de lady vind 
her saples— hanging in her wardrobe. Young 
man, I excuse you dat punch in my vace— 
dis von time." 

Ransom gave Molly her furs. Her eyes 
were smiling upon the Kid. She wound the 
scarf and threw the end over her left shoulder 
with a duchess's grace. 

11 A goupleof young vools," said Policeman 
Kohen to Ransom. " Come on away." 

Will* 'A DtCHttSS J S GRACtt. 



Pictures for the Blind. 

A Great 

Idea ^Afkick Has Opened a 
World to tke Signtless. 




MONG the men and women 
who have devoted themselves 
to work for those deprived of 
sight, none have done more 
striking work than Mr, H* M, 
Taylor, whose device for pro- 
viding models <md pictures for 
the blind has opened a new world to the 
sightless* Mr. Taylor, who is himself blind, 
is a man of the greatest eminence, being a 
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and 
one of the most gifted mathematicians of the 

In nearly every instance Mr, Taylor 
adapts, transcribes, and illustrates with 
raised diagrams the books forming this series^ 
thus providing perfect copy from which the 
plates are prepared. 

It is impossible to over-estimate what Mr. 
Taylor's work has meant for the blind : 
it has opened up possibilities that were not 
dreamt of before. It has simplified, nay, 
made possible, the study of a whole host of 
subjects, for the books illustrated by his 
embossed diagrams cover a very wide range : 






*i — = — -_-^^(i 




day, He is a Third Wrangler, Second Smith 
Prizeman (1865), was Mayor of Cambridge 
from 1900 to igot, is a Member of the Council 
of the British and Foreign Blind Association, 
Chairman of its Technical and Book Com- 
mittee, and Fellow of the College of Teachers 
of the Blind, About nineteen years ago 
Mr. Taylor lost his sight, and since 
that t me he has devoted his life to the 
higher education of the blind. He founded, 
and is one of the managers of, the Embossed 
Scientific Books Fund, which makes sub- 
stantial grants towards the publication of 
scientific books in the embossed Braille type. 

by CiC 


Algebra, Euclid, astronomy, geology s sound 
and music, trigonometry, and so forth, 

Mr. Tavlor's invention does not. of 

.- * 

course, appeal to the sense of colour, but 

only to that of form. 
The far-reaching nature of the discovery 

can be most strikingly and briefly shown by 

a consideration of such examples as those 

which we now proceed to give. 

It is one thing to describe, say^ the 

structural appearance of some well-known 

building; it is another to put into the sensitive 

hands of the blind a model of it- 
Regarding models of actual buildings, the 

Original from 





aim is to give merely 
a genera! idea of the 
shape of the building, 
without attempting 
to show the smaller 
features, such as 
doors , windows, and 
chimneys. Generally 
speaking, the pictures 
and models of archi- 
tecture are types, 
rather than correct 
examples, for exact representa- 
tion of a building needs a 
thorough knowledge of its 
dimensions, which are not 
always easy to obtain. 

Figs, 'i and ta show the 
" picture' 1 and the model of 
' an hexagonal building with a 
pyramidal roof — a building with 
a square base, with a horizontal 
octagon section above it, the 
whole surmounted by an octa- 
gonal pyramidal roof — resem- 
bling closely the Chapter 
House of St. Giles's Cathedral, 
Edinburgh. Would any amount 
of description so adequately 
convey to the blind the infor- 
mation which the feeling and 
folding of these diagrams 
convey ? 

In the same way a blind per- 
son may handle the " picture " 

of an obelisk similar to 
Cleopatra's Needle^ 
which can be easily cut 
out and folded into the 
model shown in Fig, 2. 
Again, to describe Saturn 
and his rings may not tell 
very much to the blind 
student, but to put in front 
of him an embossed diagram 
of the planet (Fig, 3} is to 
make it possible for him to 
arrive at some compre- 
hension of the brilliant 

Fig, 4 shows a draught- 
board in perspective. It 
will be seen that in addition 
to the embossed lines being 
in perspective, each of the 
dots on the receding lines 
is smaller than its prede- 


cesser, and it will be clear that by this means 
the blind may now become acquainted 

fic*. 2,— 







*•%* * 

diagrams, as Fig, 6 will show ; while 
Fig* 7 is taken from Sir Robert 
Ball's M Primer of Astronomy," 
and shows a chart of the Northern 

It is interesting to recall that 
the need for these now indispens- 
able diagrams was once shown 
by a pathetic ignorance on the 
part of a young blind scholar* 
Being asked to describe a cow's leg, 


literally with the meaning of perspec- 
tive. The sensitive fingers of the 
student, travelling over the dotted 
lines, wil reveal the degree of per- 
spective as well as do the eyes of a 
normal man. 

Domesticity is not forgotten by any 
means, as even cookery books are 
illustrated, and in Fig. 5 is shown an 
embossed diagram of a sheep, with the 
various joints for cooking marked, 
and with the name of each given in 
Braille type. 

Mu sic j that great joy to most blind 
people, is partly taught by embossed 






r:-i • . < 







; m m 


* VI 


. *i 

Fn.. 7. 


fig - ^«if»?P8fA£*^agfe 

the poor child thought of a leg in the only 
shape she knew anything about — her own— 
a very natural inference under the circum- 
stances. Fortunately, the mistake served 
not only to illuminate the ignorance of 
those who dwell in darkness, but also to shed 
light upon a path by which that ignorance 
might be dispelled. 

If Miss Keller, Dr. Campbell, and a 
host of others ju^t as famous have been able 
to achieve what they have without the aids 
now available, what may not the younger 
generation of blind do ? While there are 
men and women who arc willing to spend 
their lives .in the. service of the sightless, 
there is 419 QtBffli6"<WBat is possible, 





RS. SCUTTS, concealed behind 
the curtain j gazed at the cab 
in uneasy amazement. The 
cabman clambered down from 
« lie box and, opening the door, 
I'Kxl by with his hands ex- 
tended ready for any help that 
might be needed, A stranger was the first to 
alight, and, with his back towards Mrs- Scutts, 
seemed to be struggling with something in the 
cab. He placed a dangling hand about his 
neck and, staggering under the weight, reeled 
backwards supporting Mr. Scutts, whose 
other arm was round the neck of a third man. 
In a flash Mrs. Scutts was at the door. 

" Oh, Bill I " she gasped. " And by day- 
light, too ! " 

Mr* Scutts raised his head sharply and his 
lips parted ; then his head sank again , and 
he became a dead weight in the grasp of his 

" He's all right," said one of them, turning 
to Mrs. Scutts. 

A deep groan from Mr. Scutts confirmed the 

" What is it ? " inquired his wife, anxiously. 

u Just a little bit of a railway accident/' 
said one of the strangers. " Train ran into 
some empty trucks. Nobody hurt — seri- 
ously/ 1 he added , in response to a terrible and 
annoyed groan from Mr. Scutts. 

With his feet dragging helplessly, Mr. Scutts 
was conveyed over his own doorstep and 
placed on the sofa. 

" All the others went off home on their own 
legs/' said one of the strangers, reproachfully, 
41 He said he couldn't walk, and he wouldn't 
go to a hospital." 

" Wanted to die at home," declared the 
sufferer. " I ain't going to be cut about at 
no 'ospitals." 

The two strangers stood by watching him ; 
then thev looked at each other, 

VoLjcIvL-H; Copyright 1913, 

" I don't want — no — 'ospitals," gasped 
Mr. Scutts. " Fm going to have my own 

" Of course, the company will pay the 
doctor's bill/' said one of the strangers to 
Mrs. Scutts ; " or they'll send their own 
doctor . I expec t he ' II be a 1 1 r igh 1 1 o-m orr o w . " 

'* I *ope so," said Mr, Scutts, " but I don't 
think it. Thank you for bringing < f me 

He closed his eyes languidly, and kept them 
closed until the men had departed. 

M Can't you walk, Bill ? " inqui«pd the 
tearful Mrs. Scutts. 

Her husband shook his head. u You go 
and fetch the doctor/' he said, slowly, " That 
new one round the corner." 

"He looks such a boy," objected Mrs. 

" You go and fetch T im/ ! said Mr. Scutts, 
raising his voice. * 4 D'ye hear ! " 

u But " began his wife. 

" If I get up to you, my gal/' said the 
forgetful Mr. Scutts, " you'll know it/* 

" Why, i thought— — " said his wife > in 

Mr. Scutts raised himself on the sofa and 
shook his fist at her. Then, as a tribute to 
appearances, he sank back and groaned again, 
Mrs. Scutts, looking somewhat relieved, took 
her bonnet from a nail and departed. 

The examination was long and tedious, 
but Mr. Scutts, beyond remarking that he 
felt chilly, made no complaint. He endea- 
voured, but in vain, to perform the tests 
suggested, and even did his best to stand, 
supported by his medical attendant. Self- 
preservation is the law of Nature, and when 
Mr. Scutts's legs and back gave way he saw 
to it that the doctor was underneath. 

" We'll have to get you up to bed," said the 
latter, rising slowly and dusting himself, 

Mr. Scutts, who was lving full length on 


j 98 



the floor, acquiesced , and sent his wife for 
some neighbours. One of them was a pro- 
fessional f urn iturc-rcm over, and, half-way 
up the narrow stairs, the unfortunate had to 
remind him that he was dealing with a British 
working man, and not a piano. Four pairs 
of hands deposited Mr + Scutts with mathe- 
matical precision in the centre of the bed 
and then proceeded to tuck him in, while Mrs. 

y<$f Mr 

Scutts drew the sheet in a straight line under 
his chin, 

c * Don't look much the matter with T irn;' 
said one of the assistants. 

" You can't tell with a face like that/' 
said the furniture - remover, 4i It's w r ot 
you might call a ? appy face. Why, he 
was 'arf smiling as we carried 1m up the 
stairs" Original from 



11 You're a liar/' said Mr. Scutts, opening 
his eyes. 

" All right, mate/' said the furniture-re- 
mover; "all right. There's no call to get 
annoyed about it. Good old English pluck, 
I call it. Where d'you feel the pain ? " 

" All over/' said Mr. Scutts, briefly. 

His neighbours regarded him with sym- 
pathetic eyes, and then, led by the furniture- 
remover, filed out of the room on tip-toe. 
The doctor, with a few parting instructions, 
also took his departure. 

" If you're not better by the morning," he 
said, pausing at the door, " you must send 
for your club doctor." 

Mr. Scutts, in a feeble voice, thanked him, 
and lay with a twisted smile on his face listen- 
ing to his wife's vivid narrative to the little 
crowd which had collected at the front door. 
She came back, followed by the next-door 
neighbour, Mr. James Flynn, whose offers of 
assistance ranged from carrying Mr. Scutts out 
pick-a-back when he wanted to take the air, 
to filling his pipe for him and fetching his 

" But I dare say you'll be up and abott in 

a couple o' days," he concluded. "Yoj 

wouldn't look so well if you'd got anything 

.fcerious the matter ; rosy, fat cheeks and " 

" That'll do," said the indignant invalid. 
" It's my back that's hurt, not my face." 

" I know," said Mr. Flynn, nodding sagely ; 
" but if it was hurt bad your face would be 
as white as that sheet — whiter." 

" The doctor said as he was to be kep' quiet," 
remarked Mrs. Scutts, sharply. 

" Right-o," said Mr. Flynn. " Ta-ta, old 
pal. Keep your pecker up, and if you want 
your back rubbed With turps, or anything of 
that sort, just knock on the wall." 

He went, before Mr. Scutts could think of 
a reply suitable for an invalid and, at the same 
time, bristling with virility. A sinful and 
foolish desire to leap out of bed and help Mr. 
Flynn downstairs made him more rubicund 
than ever. 

He sent for the club doctor next morning, 
and, pending his arrival, partook of a basin 
of arrowroot and drank a little beef-tea. A 
bottle of castor-oil and an empty pill-box on 
the table by the bedside added a little local 
colour to the scene. 

" Any pain ? " inquired the doctor, after 
an examination in which bony and very cold 
fingers had played a prominent part. 

" Not much pain," said Mr. Scutts. " Don't 
seem to 'ave no strength in my back." 

" Ah ! " said the doctor. 

u I tried to get up this morning to go to my 

work," said Mr. Scutts, " but I can't stand — 
I couldn't get out of bed." 

" Fearfully upset, he was, pore dear," 
testified Mrs. Scutts. " He can't bear losing 
a day. I s'pose — I s'pose the railway com- 
pany will 'ave to do something if it's serious, 
won't they, sir ? " 

" Nothing to do with me," said the doctor. 
" I'll put him on the club for a few days ; I 
expect he will be all right soon. He's got a 
healthy colour — a very healthy colour." 

Mr. Scutts waited until he had left the 
house, and then made a few remarks on the 
colour question that for impurity of English 
and strength of diction have probably never 
been surpassed. 

A second visitor that day came after dinner — 
a tall man in a frock-coat, bearing in his hand 
a silk hat, which, after a careful survey of the 
room, he hung on a knob of the bed-post. 

" Mr. Scutts ? " he inquired, bowing. 

" That's me," said Mr. Scutts, in a feeble 

" I've called from the railway company," 
said the stranger. " We have seen now all 
those who left their names and addresses on 
Monday afternoon, and I am glad to say that 
nobody was really hurt. Nobody." 

Mr. Scutts, in a faint voice, said he was 
glad to hear it. 

" Been a wonder if they had," said the other, 
cheerfully. " Why, even the paint wasn't 
knocked off the engine. The most serious 
damage appears to be two top-hats crushed 
and an umbrella broken." 

He leaned over the bed-rail and laughed 
joyously. Mr. Scutts, through half-closed 
eyes, gazed at him in silent reproach. 

11 1 don't say that one or two people did 
not receive a little bit of a shock to their 
nerves," said the visitor, thoughtfully. " One 
lady even stayed in bed next day. However, 
I made it all right with them. The company is 
very generous, and although, of course, there 
is no legal obligation, they made several of 
them a present of a few pounds, so that they 
could go away for a little change, or anything 
of that sort, to quiet their nerves." 

Mr. Scutts, who had been listening with 
closed eyes, opened them languidly and said, 
" Oh." 

" I gave one gentleman twen-ty pounds ! " 
said the visitor, jingling some coins in his 
trouser-pocket. " I never saw a man so 
pleased and grateful in my life. When he 
signed the receipt for it — I always get them 
to sign a receipt, so that the company can see 
that I haven't kept the money for myself — 
he nearly wept with joy." 




" I should think he would/' said Mr. Scutts, 
slowly — " if he wasn't hurt." 

" You're the last on my list," said the 
other, hastily. He produced a slip of paper 
from his pocket-book and placed it on the 
small table, with a fountain pen. Then, 
with a smile that was both tender and playful, 
he plunged his hand in his pocket and poured 
a stream of gold on the table. 

" What do you say to thir-ty pounds ? " 
he said, in a hushed voice. " Thir-ty golden 
goblins ? " 

" What for ? " inquired Mr. Scutts, with a 
notable lack of interest. 

" For — well, to go away for a day or two," 
said the visitor. " I find you in bed ; it may 
be a cold or a bilious attack ; or perhaps you 
had a little upset of the nerves when the trains 
kissed each other." 

" I'm in bed — because — I can't walk — or 
stand," said Mr. Scutts, speaking very dis- 
tinctly. " I'm on my club, and if as 'ow I get 
well in a day or two, there's no reason why 
the company should give me any money. 
I'm pore, but I'm honest." 

" Take my advice as a friend," said the 
other ; " take the money while you can get it." 

He nodded significantly at Mr. Scutts and 
closed one eye. Mr. Scutts closed both of his. 

" I 'ad my back hurt in the collision," he 
said, after a long pause. " I 'ad to be helped 
'ome. So far it seems to get worse, but I 'ope 
for the best." 

" Dear me," said the visitor; "how sad ! 
I suppose it has been coming on for a long 
time. Most of these back cases do. At least 
all the doctors say so." 

" It was done in the collision," said Mr. 
Scutts, mildly but firmly. " I was as right 
as rain before then." 

The visitor shook his head and smiled. 
" Ah ! you would have great difficulty in 
proving that," he said, softly ; " in fact, 
speaking as man to man, I don't mind telling 
you it would be impossible. I'm afraid I'm 
exceeding my duty, but, as you're the last on 
my list, suppose — suppose we say forty 
pounds. Forty ! A small fortune." 

He added some more gold to the pile on the 
table, and gently tapped Mr. Scutts 's arm 
with the end of the pen. 

" Good afternoon," said the invalid. 

The visitor, justly concerned at his lack of 
intelligence, took a seat on the edge of the 
bed and spoke to him as a friend and a brother, 
but in vain. Mr. Scutts reminded him at last 
that it was medicine-time, after which, pain 
and weakness permitting, he was going to try 
to get a little sleep. 


" Forty pounds ! " he said to his wife, after 
the official had departed. l% Why didn't 'e 
offer me a bag o' sweets ? " 

" It's a lot o' money," said Mrs. Scutts, 

" So's a thousand," said her husband. " I 
ain't going to 'ave my back broke for nothing, 
I can tell you. Now, you keep that mouth 
o' yours shut, and, if I get it, you shall 'ave 
a new pair o' boots." 

" A thousand ! " exclaimed the startled 
Mrs. Scutts. " Have you took leave of your 
senses, or what ? " 

" I read a case in the paper where a man 
got it," said Mr. Scutts. " He 'ad his back 
'urt, too, pore chap. How would you like to 
lay on your back all your life for a thousand 
pounds ? " 

" Will you 'ave to lay abed all your life ? " 
inquired his wife, staring. 

" Wait till I get the money," said Mr. 
Scutts ; " then I might be able to tell you 

He gazed wistfully at the window. It was 
late October, but the sun shone and the air 
was clear. The sound of traffic and cheerful 
voices ascended from the little street. To 
Mr. Scutts it all seemed to be a part of a 
distant past. 

" If that chap comes round to-morrow and 
offers me five hundred," he said, slowly, " I 
don't know as I won't take it. I'm sick of 
this mouldy bed." 

He waited expectantly next day, but nothing 
happened, and after a week of bed he began to 
realize that the job might be a long one. The 
monotony, to a man of his active habits, 
became almost intolerable, and the narrated 
adventures of Mr. James Flynn, his only caller, 
filled him with an uncontrollable longing to be 
up and doing. 

The fine weather went, and Mr. Scutts, in 
his tumbled bed, lay watching the rain beat- 
ing softly on the window-panes. Then one 
morning he awoke to the darkness of a London 

" It gets worse and worse," said Mrs. Scutts, 
as she returned home in the afternoon with 
a relish for his tea. " Can't see your 'and 
before your face." 

Mr. Scutts looked thoughtful. He ate his 
tea in silence, and after he had finished lit his 
pipe and sat up in bed smoking. 

" Penny for your thoughts," said his wife. 

11 I'm going out," said Mr. Scutts, in a 
voice that defied opposition. " I'm going to 
'ave a walk, and when I'm far enough away 
I'm going to 'ave one or two drinks. I believe 
this fog is ;^tj fa-purpose to save my life." 




Mrs. Scutts re- 
monstrated j but in 
vain ? and at half- 
past six the invalid, 
with his cap over 
his eyes and a large 
scarf tied round the 
lower part of his 
face, listened for a 
moment at his 
front door and then 
disappeared in the 


Left to herself, 
Mrs. Scutts re- 
turned to the bed- 
room and j poking 
the tiny fire into a 
blaze, sat and pon- 
dered over the wil- 
fulness of men. 

She was awakened 
from a doze by a 
knocking at the 
street-door* It was 
just eight o'clock, 
and, inwardly con- 
gratulating her 
husband on his 
return to common 
sense and home, 
she went down and 
opened it. Two tall 
men in silk hats . 
entered the room,- 4 

" Mrs. Scutts? *\ 
said one of them. 

Mrs, Scutts, in a 
dazed fashion, 

11 We have come 
to see your hus- 
band, 1 * said the in- 
truder. " I am a 
doctor ." 

The panic-stricken Mrs. Scutts tried in vain 
to think. 

" He — he's asleep/' she said, at last- 

" Doesn't matter/ 1 said the doctor, 

" Not a bit/ 5 said his companion* 

" Vou — you can't see him/' protested Mrs. 
Scutts, " He ain't to be seen," 

" He'd be sorry to miss me/ 1 said the doctor, 
eyeing her keenly as she stood on guard by 
the inner door, " I suppose he's at home ?i" 

u Of course/' said Mrs, Scutts, stammering 
and flushing. " Why, the pore man can't 
stir from his bed," 

" Well, I'll just peep in at the door, then/' 



said the doctor. if I won't wake him. You 
can't object to that. If you do- " 

Mrs. Scutts's head began to swim, " I'll go 
up and see whether he's awake/' she said. 

She closed the door on them and stood with 
her hand, to her throat, thinking. Then, 
instead of going upstairs, she passed into the 
yard and^ stepping over the fence, opened Mr, 
Flynn*s back door, 

"Halloa ! " said that gentleman, who was 
standing in the scullery removing mud from 
his boots, " What's up? " 

In a frenzied gabble Mrs. Scutts told him. 
" You must h\i ? im/' she said, clutching him by 




the coat and dragging him towards the door. 
" They've never seen 'im, and they won't 
know the difference." 

" But " exclaimed the astonished 


" Quick ! " she said, sharply. " Go into 
the back room and undress, then nip into his 
room and get into bed. And mind, be fast 
asleep all the time." 

Still holding the bewildered Mr. Flynn by 
the coat, she led him into the house and waved 
him upstairs, and stood below listening until 
a slight creaking of the bed announced that 
he had obeyed orders. Then she entered the 

" He's fast asleep," she said, softly; "and 
mind, I won't 'ave him disturbed. It's the 
first real sleep he's 'ad for nearly a week. If 
you promise not to wake 'im you may just 
have a peep." 

" We won't disturb him," said the doctor, 
and, followed by his companion, noiselessly 
ascended the stairs and peeped into the room. 
Mr. Flynn was fast asleep, and not a muscle 
moved as the two men approached the bed 
on tip-toe and stood looking at him. The 
doctor turned after a minute and led the way 
out of the room. 

" We'll call again," he said, softly. 

" Yes, sir," said Mrs. Scutts. " When ? " 

The doctor and his companion exchanged 
glances. u I'm very busy just at present," 
he said, slowly. " We'll look in some time, 
and take our chance of catching him awake." 

Mrs. Scutts bowed them out, and in some 
perplexity returned to Mr. Flynn. " I don't 
like the look of 'em," she said, shaking her 
head. " You'd better stay in bed till Bill 
comes 'ome in case they come back." 

" Right-o," said the obliging Mr. Flynn. 
" Just step in and tell my landlady I'm 'aving 
a chat with Bill." 

He lit his pipe and sat up in bed smoking 
until a knock at the front door at half-past 
eleven sent him off to sleep again. Mrs. 
Scutts, who was sitting downstairs, opened 
it and admitted her husband. 

" All serene ? " he inquired. " What are 
you looking like that for ? What's up ? " 

He sat quivering with alarm and rage as 
she told him, and then, mounting the stairs 
with a heavy tread, stood gazing in helpless 
fury at the slumbering form of Mr. James 

" Get out o' my bed," he said at last, in a 
choking voice. 

" What, Bill ! " said Mr. Flynn, opening his 

" Get out o' my bed," repeated the other. 

" You've made a nice mess of it between you. 
It's a fine thing if a man can't go out for 'arf 
a pint without coming 'ome and finding all 
the riff-raff of the neighbourhood in 'is bed." 

" 'Ow's the pore back, Bill ? " inquired Mr. 
Flynn, with tenderness. 

Mr. Scutts gurgled at him. " Outside ! " 
he said as soon as he could get his breath. 

" Bill," said the voice of Mrs. Scutts, outside 
the door. 

" Halloa," growled her husband. 

"He mustn't go," said Mrs. Scutts. 
" Those gentlemen are coming again, and 
they think he is you." 

" What ! " roared the infuriated Mr. 

" Don't you see ? It's me what's got the 
pore back now, Bill," said Mr. Flynn. " You 
can't pass yourself off as me, Bill; you ain't 
good-looking enough." 

Mr. Scutts, past speech, raised his clenched 
fists to the ceiling. 

41 He'll 'ave to stay in your bed," continued 
the voice of Mrs. Scutts. " He's got a good 
'art, and I know he'll do it ; won't you, Jim ? " 

Mr. Flynn pondered. " Tell my landlady 
in the morning that I've took your back 
room," he said. " What a fortunit thing it 
is I'm out o' work. What are you walking 
up and down like that for, Bill ? Back coming 
on agin ? " 

" Then o' course," pursued the voice of Mrs. 
Scutts, in medit itive accents, " there's the 
club doctor and the other gentleman that 
knows Bill. They might come at any moment. 
There's got to be two Bills in bed, so that if 
one party comes one Bill can nip into the 
back room, and if the other Bill — party, I 
mean — comes, the other Bill — you know what 
I mean ! " 

Mr. Scutts swore himself faint. 

" That's 'ow it is, mate," said Mr. Flynn. 
" It's no good standing there saying your 
little piece of poetry to yourself. Take off your 
clo'es and get to bed like a little man. Now ! 
now ! Naughty ! Naughty ! " 

" P'r'aps I oughtn't to 'ave let 'em up, 
Bill," said his wife ; " but I was afraid they'd 
smell a rat if I didn't. Besides, I was took 
by surprise." 

" You get off to bed," said Mr. Scutts. 
" Get off to bed while you're safe." 

" And get a good night's rest," added the 
thoughtful Mr. Flynn. "If Bill's back is 
took bad in the night I'll look after it." 

Mr. Scutts turned a threatening face on 
him. " For two pins " he began. 

" For two pins I'll go back 'ome and stay 
there," saQr^Tr Fly^n. 




He put one mus- 
cular leg out of 
bed, and then, at 
the earnest request 
of Mr + Scutts, put 
it back again. In 
a few simple, 
manly words the 
la tier apologized , 
by putting all the 
blame on Mrs* 
Scutts T and 3 re- 
moving his clothe s, 
got into bed. 

Wrapped in bed- 
clothes, they 
passed the follow- 
ing day listening 
for knocks at the 
door and playing 

cards. By evening 

both men were 

weary ? and Mr. 

Scutts made a few 

pointed remarks 

concerni ng dodgi ng 

doctors and deceit- 

ful visitors to 

which Mr, Flynn 

listened in silent 

"They mightn't 

come for a week/' 

he said ; dismallv, 

"It's all right for 

you, but where 

do I come in ? 

Halves ? » 

Mr. Scutts had 

a rush of blood to 

the head. 
" You leave it 

to me j mate," he 

said, controlling 

himself by an 

effort, " If *I get 

ten quid > say, you shall have 'arf," 
" And suppose you get more ? '* demanded 

the other, 

" We'll see, 1 ' said Mr. Scutts, vaguely, 
Mr* Flynn returned to the charge next day, 

but got no satisfaction, Mr. Scutts preferred 

to talk instead of the free board and lodging 

his friend was getting. On the subject of 

such pay for such work he was almost eloquent, 
" 111 bide my time/ 1 said Mr. Flynn, darkly. 

" Treat me fair and I'll treat you fair/* 
His imprisonment came to an end on the 

fourth day. There was a knock at the door. 





and the sound of men's voices, followed by the 
hurried appearance of Mrs. Scutts. 

" It's Jim*s lot," she said, in a hurried 
whisper, li I've just come up to get the room 

Mr, Scutts took his friend by the hand, and 
after warmly urging him not to forget the 
expert instructions he had received concerning 
his back, slipped into the hack room, and, a 
prey to forebodings, awaited the result. 

" Well, he looks better/ 1 said the doctor, 
regarding Mr, Flynn, 

M Much betQffgiadllfftftnaompanion, 




Mrs, Scutts shook her head. " His pore 
back don't seem no better, sir/' she said, in a 
low voice. " Can't you do something for it ? " 

* c Let me have a look at it," said the doctor. 
" Undo your shirt." 

Mr. Flynn., with slow fingers^ fumbled with 
the button at his neck and looked hard at Mrs, 

" She can't bear to see me suffer/' he said, 
in a feeble voice, as she left the room. 

He bore the examination with the fortitude 

" It is all yours/' said the doctor, " if you 
can walk across the room and take it from 
that gentleman's hand." 

il Honour bright ? " asked Mr. Flynn, in 
tremulous tones, as the other man held up 
the bag and gave him an encouraging smile, 

" Honour bright/' said the doctor. 

With a spring that nearly broke the bed, 
Mr, Flynn quitted it and snatched the bag, 
and at the same moment Mrs. Scutts, impelled 
by a maddened arnrij burst into the room, 



of an early Christian martyr. In response 
to inquiries he said he felt as though the main- 
spring of his back had gone. 

4L How lung since you walked ? " inquired 
the doctor. 

11 Not since the accident/ 1 said Mr, Flynn, 

" Try now," said the doctor, 

Mr. Flynn smiled at him reproachfully, 

" You can't walk because you think you 
can't/' said the doctor ; * ( that is alh You'll 
have to be encouraged the same way that a 
child is. 1 should like to cure you, and I 
think I can/* 

He took a small canvas bag from the other 
man and opened it. (< Forty pounds/' he 
said, * f Would you like to count it ? J ' 

Mr, Flynn's eyes shone. 


" Your back ! " she moaned. t£ It'll kill 
you. Get back to bed*" 

" I'm cured_, lovey/' said Mr. Flynn, 

" His back is as strong as ever/* said the 
doctor, giving it a thump. 

Mr. Flynn, who had taken his c!o hes from 
a chair and was hastily dressing himself, 

*' But if you'll wait 'art a tick 111 walk as 
far as the corner with you/' he said, quickly, 
+< I'd like to make sure it's all right," 

He paused at the foot of the stairs and, 
glancing up a: the pallid and murderous face 
of Mr, Scutts, which protruded from the back 
bedroom, smiled at him rapturously. Then, 
with a lordly air, he tossed him five pieces of 
gold. Original from 


[ <■ i^'.JH^:. f 

■ H#4te&*^** ; > rfxm&utivA.tifriktoMA i,$&x*&£ii^x& ■ nuimmki' 

A Studu iiv Hats 


OT everyone is, perhaps, aware 
that part of the stock-in- 
trade of every old-established 
hatter is a large number of 
charts, maps, 

plans, call 
them w h a t 
you will, of his customers' 
heads. These are obtained 
by means of an instrument 
called a (£ brow/' which can 
be adjusted with screws to 
any size or shape, and which, 
being accurately fitted to the 
rranium, will provide the 
necessary contour on which 
the hat is subsequently 
moulded, The majority of 
people, it is true, are content 
with ready-made hats, just 
as they are with ready-made 
boots and shoes ; but many 
prefer ? and a number are 
compelled, to have their hats 
made for them. The advan- 
tage of having a block at the 
hatter's is, of course, obvious. 
It ensures a perfect fit, at 
any time, without the neces- 
sity of a personal visit. The 
disadvantage — that it places 
the hatter in possession of 
purely personal secrets, is 
not generally considered. 

Through the kindness of 
Messrs- Lincoln and Bennett, 

Vol. xlvi— 12. 




Messrs, Henry Heath, and other firms of 
similar world-wide reputation, we are here 
enabled to present a number of these curious 
human diagrams, including those belonging 
to some of the most celebrated 
men of our day. The study 
of them reveals at once some 
interesting facts. One is that 
the left side of the head is 
almost always larger than the 
right, due, it is said, to the 
universal practice of using 
the right hand more than 
the left- Another curious point 
is that nationality consider- 
ably affects the shape of the 
head. It would surely be 
an interesting subject for a 
biologist to explain why it is 
that the nearer the equator 
a race resides the rounder 
their heads become. No one 
needs reminding of the round, 
bullet -shaped skull of the 
negro, but the hatter will 
assure us that a Frenchman's 
head is rounder than an 
Englishman's, and similarly 
an Englishman's rounder than 
a Scotsman's. The average 
Scot's head tapers consider- 
ably towards the front, 
narrows at the temples, and 
becomes square and promi- 
nent at the forehead* A good 
ex^mpie of this is shown in 




the head-chart of that celebrated Scotsman 
tiit 1 late Duke of Argyll, which, in proof of 
the racial characteristics already referred to, 
may well be contrasted with the typically 
French head of the Prince Imperial (tig. 3). 
German heads, on the average, are rounder 
than English, and broader at the back. Irish 
heads s in general, are long, like the Scotch, 
but scarcely as narrow. 

The Slavonic head is narrow in front and 
very broad at the back. When the recent 
Peace Conference took place in London a few 
months ago, the first thing that the delegates 
of the Balkan States did on arrival was to 
call on Messrs, Heath with a demand to be 
immediately fitted out with the top hats that 
their new position necessitated ; and that 
famous firm was well-nigh nonplussed to 
provide, at instant notice, hats of so totally 
unusual shape. 

As a fine example of the highest form of 

individual his 6}. In striking contrast to 
this stands the largest hat which the same 
famous hatters have ever supplied, a hat no 
less than 9$ inches lon^ and proportionately 
broad — a giant hat t almost as capacious as a 
hat-box ? and which literally swallows up any 
evefy-day sample placed within it. Its 
owner, however, was no giant, neither was he 
a man of unusual attainments, A peculiar, 
and happily rare, disease which enlarges the 
bones of the head, was indeed responsible for 
the strange development which caused his 
hat to establish a record in the annals of 
hat- making* 

Naturally following these largest and 
smallest hats, may be instanced (from 
Messrs. Heath's collection) the roundest and 
the longest (that is to say, in proportion to 
the width) — Figs. 1 and 2, on the preceding 
page, To contemplate these side by 
side is to marvel at the vagaries of Nature 

■ The 

W S.r M. M. 1 

^m ^B 

Prince Imperial. 


Tom Thumb, 

m 6i A 

m 6l A 

^& M 

no. 3. nfi. 4. Fin, 5. 



Asiatic head, we may instance the shape of 
Sir Mancherjee Merwanjee Bhownagree, the 
eminent Parsee lawyer, philanthropist, and 
man of letters {Fig, 4), 

The size of the head, as is well known, does 
not correspond, except in a general sense, to 
the size of the body, A child's head is, of 
course, smaller than a man's, and it is only 
to be expected that the hat of that famous 
dwarf Tom Thumb (Fig. 5) should have been 
a particularly miniature specimen. Small as 
this was, however (only 5 J), this Lilliputian 
silk hat has not been the smallest which 
Messrs. Lincoln and Bennett have been called 
upon to produce. Tom Thumb's great (or 
rather, minute) rival, General Mite, required 
a hat of but size 5 J, a veritable toy of a 
" topper/' but which the tiny gentleman wore 
with as much satisfaction as an ordinary 

Digitized by Gi 

which should envelop two sets of human 
brains in such widely different cases. It is 
not difficult to understand how necessary it 
must be for the owners of such abnormal 
skulls to keep a block at their hatter's, since 
they could never hope to find ready-made 
hats to fit them* 

To the late Sir John Shaw-Lefevre belonged 
the honour — for such he doubtless esteemed 
it, of wearing the biggest hat in Parliament. 
This eminent Parliamentarian required size 
8 J, whereas the largest size of hats in ordinary 
request does not exceed 7§. Sir John was, 
undoubtedly, a very clever man, but had the 
power of his brain been in direct proportion 
to its dimensions he must have been one of 
the greatest geniuses of the age. In point of 
fact, in spite of popular conception to the 
contrary, there is but small connection 




between size of 
head and 
Many clever 
men, it is true, 
have big heads, 
but so have 
many lunatics 
and imbeciles. 
The weight of 
the brain is a 
surer guide to 
its quality than 
the size of the 
head. Other 
things being 

equal, brain- weight corresponds with intelli- 
gence. The average weight for a man is 
from forty-six to fifty-three ounces — of a 
woman from forty -one to forty -seven (a 
bitter fact for advocates of the superiority of 
the fairer sex)* The heaviest human brains 
known were Dr. Abercrombie's, which was 
sixty-two and a half ounces, and Cuvier's, 
the great French naturalist, an ounce and a 
half heavier. It falls to the lot of but few 
geniuses, however, to have this test applied to 
them. The brain of a man, on the whole, is 
about one-fortieth of the weight of his body. 
Of a dog j but one hu n d re d-and- twentieth. 
Only two kinds of animal, the whale and 
elephant, have larger brains than man, but 
in both these the proportion to the weight of 
the body is greatly less. 

But it is in- the shape of head, rather than 
in the weight or in the size, that the true 
nature is displayed. Quite instinctively we 
realize this fact and form our own judgments. 
To take one most famous example, surely 
not one of his loyal subjects could fail to 
recognize, from picture, photograph, or actual 
observation, the ig good head ,T of the late 
King Edward (Fig. 6), Phrenologists or no, we 

can all of us 
trace immedi- 
ately in the 
hatter's pat- 
tern — br oad, 
shapely, and 
sym metrical, 
the kindliness, 
the humanity, 
the consum- 
mate tact and 
knowledge of 
mankind that 
made Edward 
the Peacemaker 
the revered 
and beloved of all the world. King Edward 
took a 7 J in hats — his illustrious nephew the 
Emperor of Germany has a 6| u easy " (Fig. 
7 V His head is also very talented and sym- 
metrica!, and, for a German, quite unusually 
long. German heads, as already stated, are 
generally round — that of the late Duke of 
Cambridge (Fig, S) being much more typical 
in this respect. 

The Duke's head, we observe, was very 
broad. Breadth of head denotes common 
sense and reasonableness ; a somewhat 
pointed back the self-respect and desire for 
the good opinion of others which strengthens 
a man's character and makes him prize his 
good name above all other possessions. Self- 
esteem tilts up the back of the head. Too 
much of it produces selfishness and arrogance * 
too little, diffidence and self-distrust. The 
absence of the " bump ? * (so-called) of love 
of approbation is often observed in criminals, 
and the result is shamelessness. This organ , 
as might be supposed, is apt to be larger in 
the female than in the male sex, 

Remarkably alike are the heads of two 
great soldiers — one of the past, the other, 
most happily, yet with us and nobly labouring 

Fia 8. 


FI(i. 9. 

Original ttqfto. io- 



for his country as of yore — Lord Napier of 
Magdala and Lord Roberts (Figs, 9 and ic). 
The hatter is perforce less of a judge of fight- 
ing men than of those of other callings, for 
the skull-developments that indicate courage 
and combat iveness come too low down on the 
head to be touched by his M brow." But 
however necessary these characteristics may 
be, there are other, and even higher, qualities 
necessary for the great General — the cautious- 
ness and prudence that give the wide back 
to the head, and the firmness or even 
obstinacy (of the bulldog description) that 
is indicated by the pointed forehead. These, 
at least, we trace in fullest measure in the 
contours before us, as also in the rounder 
shape of that illustrious sailor. Lord Fisher 
(Pig. n). 

Turn now to Parliament, and head-shapes 
of famous statesmen and Ministers. It were 

prominent foreheads are better tempered and 
more amiable than those whose foreheads 
are sunken, 

Compare with this head that of another 
famous member of Parliament of past years, 
Samuel Morley f In his pattern a great and 
almost unusual breadth of the back of the 
skull is observed, indicating cautiousness, A 
man with this development will accept no 
statement on hearsay, will most carefully 
weigh the evidence for every fact, and will 
decide only after long and earnest deliberation. 

A very fine head, and rather a large one, 
belonged to that famous and heroic man. 
Professor Fawcett, MJ\ Afflicted above 
most mortals by the loss of his sight, he did 
not allow even this heavy handicap to unfit 
him for his life's work, and, rising superior to 
his blindness, led an existence of honour and 
useful labour for his country. Especially 


FIG, 12, 

FIG. 13. 

but appropriate and graceful to begin the list 
with the present Speaker (Fig* 12). It is surely 
more than a coincidence that his hat -shape 
is practically precisely the same as that of 
King Edward. This is, indeed, entirely what 
we might expect from two men holding each 
beneficent sway over others, secure in the 
affectionate esteem that perfect courtesy, 
unswerving justice, and unrivalled tact 

A fine large head was that of the late Right 
Honourable W. H, Smith, JLP, T the staunch 
and trusty statesman, affectionately known 
in Putuh as " Old Morality/' respected and 
beloved by all for his unflinching integrity and 
sterling qualities of heart and brain. Sense 
and virtue are in every line, and kindness and 
benevolence in the broad and prominent 
forehead. It is a curious fact, by the way, 
that this last indication prevails even in the 
hrute creation* It has again and again been 
observed that horses and dogs with full or 

Digitized by IjDOglC 

remarkable is the unusually fine development 
of the brow. Those who exercise their 
reasoning powers most will always be found to 
be very full in the middle upper portion of the 
forehead, near the hair. 

Of living statesmen, Mr. Balfour's is the 
shapely head of the cultured thinker and 
philosopher, wise and urbane, a leader of 
men (Fig. 13) ; Lord St, Aldwyn's that of the 
prudent and experienced man of affairs, on 
whom the responsibilities of great position 
rest safely and easily. 

A most striking head is that of the late John 
Pierpont Morgan (Fig, 14), mighty financier, 
wondrous organizer, multi-millionaire. Pru- 
dence is there, but also ambition, broaden- 
ing the back of the head, and the length that 
tells of supreme self-confidence without which 
great success is impossible. This is the head 
which, above all other things, succeeds. 

For the reflective, scientific head, the head 
that compares a^d tests, perceives and 




■ Mr. J. Pierpont V 

■ Lord 

M Sir Arthur M 





m 63 A 

I 1 

FIG. 14. 

thinks out, we have a splendid example in 
Lord Ave bury (Fig. 15). These qualities give 
the broad forehead, the " noble brow/' the 
searching eye that are so unmistakable when 
we see them at scientific gathering and 
learned meeting. It is a curious fact that 
l,ord Avebury's hat would have been an 
equally good fit for Sir Arthur Sullivan (Fig. 
16), who represents Music in our collection* 

We cannot fail to observe how wonderfully 
broad in the front is the hat -shape of that 
Prince of Actors, Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree 
Fig, 1 7)* This is because at this part of the head 
are situated the organs of Imitation f endowing 
with histrionic power, and Ideality, the love 
of the beautiful and refined, and the appre- 

FIG. 15, FIG. 16. 

these qualities and be both long and wide. 
Following in these lines, the most perfect 
pattern of our collection belonged to Dr. 
Benson, the late Archbishop of Canterbury 
(Fig. 18)* This is entirely as it should be, and 
gives surest proof of the wisdom and judgment 
of the choice which placed at the head of the 
Church a man so eminently fitted for that 
highest of all posts. In Bishop Benson *s 
head we have the wide, high forehead of the 
deep thinker, the rounded brows which tell of 
benevolence, veneration, and religious feeling, 
the fullness of the back announcing affection, 
unselfishness, and sympathy, the breadth 
which gives tact, and the length which confers 
steadfastness. Such a shape as this, matching 

1 Sir H - 1 


Beerbohm Tree* ■ 


1 1 

B m 

FIG, I?. 

ciation of the artistic. Thrice happy com- 
bination that gives to a grateful public the 
superb productions ever associated with 
"His Majesty's"! 

It has been stated, as a general axiom, that 
those who wear long hats are clever and 
affectionate, those who wear wide hats have 
common sense, tact, and savoir faire* The 
ideal head, therefore, would combine all 

Digitized by Google 

FIG. 1 8. 

as it does so faithfully the character of the 
man who bore it, should be enough to 
convince even the most sceptical of the close 
connection which exists between a man's 
qualities and the shape of the hat he wears ; 
which all goes to prove the truth of an oft- 
repeated contention that the hatter may, if 
he pleases, be the surest judge of human 

nature. « 5 , , , 

Original from 



Witt Some Easy Puzzles for Beginners. By Henry E. Dudeney. 


There are some half-dozen puzzles, as old as the 

hil's, that are jjerpetually cropping up, and there is 

hardly a month in the year that does not bring 

inquiries as to their solution. Occasionally one of 

these, that one had 
hoj>ed was an ex- 
tinct volcano, bursts 
into eruption in a 
surprising manner. 
For some quite un- 
known reason I have 
lately received an 
extraordinary num- 
ber of letters (four 
of them from the 
United States) re- 
specting the ancient 
puzzle that I have called " Water, Gas, and Electricity." 
It is much older than electric lighting, or even gas, but 
the new dress brings it up to date. The puzzle is to lay 
on water, gas, and electricity, from W, G, and E, to 
each of the three houses, A, B, and C, without any 
pipe crossing another. Take your pencil and draw lines 
showing how this should be done. You will soon find 
yourself landed in difficulties. My answer next month 
must serve as a reply to my many correspondents. 

most of all. Mrs. Brown bought 21 yards more than 
Bessie — one of the girls. Annie bought 16 yards more 
than* Mary and spent £3 os. 8d. more than Emily. 
The Christian name of the other girl was Ada. Now, 
what was her surname ? 

d i£ d£ 
(h (h (h 

Solutions to Last Month's Puzzles. 

140.— THE 

The illustration 
shows how all the 
stars may be 
struck out in 
twelve straight 
strokes, beginning 
and ending at a 
black star. 

Here is another old stager about which people are 
always writing to me. There are two different ways 
in which the puzzle is 

presented. 1. Draw the 

simple diagram herewith 

in three strokes of the 

pencil without ever going 

over the same line twice 

or lifting your pencil 

from the paper during a 

stroke. 2. Draw the diagram on a slate and then rub 

it out in three rubs. I believe Houdin, the conjurer, 

was fond of showing this to his child friends, but it 



The following 
solution in thirteen manipulations shows the con- 
tents of every vessel at the start and after every 
manipulation :- 

142.— THE 


The correct 
answer is 225 
rectangles, in- 
cluding the 
large square it- 
self. Add the 
number of cells 
in the side of 
diagram to its 
square, divide 
by 2 and square the result. 





4 -quart. 



5 - 



5 - 




9 • 



9 ■ 





. 5 


4 • 




8 . 



8 . 




8 . 


8 . 

8 . 



8 . 




8 . 

4 • 

• 5 

.. 3 



• 3 


was invented before his time— perhaps in the Stone Age. *5) is 15, whose square is 225. 

Thus, half of (5 added to 

You need me not ; my office is 

To wait upon the dead. 
Remove my tail, lop off my ears, 

But do not touch my head. 
I'm often silent now — but stop, 
For mercy's sake don't let me drop ! 

This puzzle bears a family likeness to " The 
Dutchmen's Wives " (our No. 16). It was recently 
submitted to a Sydney evening newspaper that 
indulges in " intellect sharpeners," but was rejected 
with the remark that it is childish and that they only 
published problems capable of solution ! Five ladies, 
accompanied by their daughters, bought cloth at the 
same shop. Each of the ten paid as many farthings 
per foot as she bought feet, and each mother spent 
8s. 5Jd. more than her daughter. Mrs. Robinson 
spent 6s. more than Mrs. Evans, who spent about a 
quarter as much as Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Smith spent 

The three smallest numbers, in addition to 48, are 
1,680, 57,120, and 1,940,448. It will be found that 
1,681 and 841 ; 57»i2i and 28,561 ; 1,940,449 and 
970,225, are respectively the squares of 41 and 29 ; 
239 and 169 : 1,393 and 985. 

A N T H E A* 
* J. L. Hatton's setting of Herrick's words, " To 

by L^OOgle 

Bill Harris must have spent thirteen shillings and 
sixpence, which would be three shillings more than tho 
average for the seven men — half a guinea. 




Illustrated ty H. R. 

CHAPTER X, (tonlinwd). 

\D now the tramp, tramp, 
tramp of the great army 
sounded nearer and more 
near, and through the 
dimly- lighted water the 
children could see the great 
Deep Sea people advancing. 
Very terrible they were, big far beyond 
man -size h more stalwart and more finely- 
knit than the Forlorn-hopers who had 
Jed the attack so happily and gloriously 
frustrated by the Crabs, the Narwhals, 
and the Sea-urchins, As the advance guard 
drew near all the children stared, from their 
places of concealment, at the faces of these 
terrible foes of the happy Me r land, Very 
strong the faces were., and, surprisingly, very, 
very sad. They looked— Francis at least was 
able to see it— like strong folk suffering 
proudly an almost intolerable injury — bearing, 
bravely, an almost intolerable pain. 

" But Vm on the other side," he told 
himself, to check a sudden rising in his heart 

Digiiiz&d by LjOOQIC 

of— well, if it was not sympathy, what was 

And now the head of the advancing column 
was level with the Princess. True to the 
old tradition which bids a commander to 
lead and not to follow his troops, she was 
the first to dart out and fix a shell to the 
heel of the left-rank man, The children 
were next. Their practice bore its fruit. 
There was no blunder, no mistake. Each 
Oyster-shell clipped sharp and clean the 
attached ankle of an enemy ; each Oyster- 
shell at the same moment attached itself 
firmly to the rock, thus clinging to his base 
in the most thorough and military way. 
A spring of joy and triumph welled up in 
the children's hearts. How easy it was to 
get the better of these foolish Deep Sea 
folk. A faint, kindly contempt floated into 
the children's minds for the Mer-people, 
who so dreaded and hated these stupid giants, 
Why, there were fifty or sixty of them tied 
by the leg already ! It was as easy as 

The pleasant nature of these reflections 




had kept our four rooted to the spot. In the 
triumphant performance of one duty they 
failed to remember the duly that should have 
followed. They stood there rejoicing in their 
victory, when by all the rules of the Service 
they should have rushed back to the armoury 
for fresh weapons. 

The omission was fatal, Even as they 
stood there rejoicing in their cleverness and 
boldness, and in the helpless anger of the 
enemy, something thin and string-like spread 
itself round them —their feet caught in 
string, their fingers caught in string, string 
tweaked their ears and flattened their noses — 
string confined their elbows and confused 
their legs, The Lobster-guarded doorway 
seemed farther off — and farther, and farther 

, . + . They turned their heads : they weTe 
following backwards and against their will a 
retreating enemy. 

il Oh, why didn't we do what she said ? " 
breathed Cathy. " Something's happened ! M 

" I should think it had/' said Bernard, 
u We're caught — in a net." 

They were. And a tall fnfantryman of 
the Underfolk was towing them away from 
Merland as swiftly and as easily as a 
running child tows a captive air-balloon, 

Those of us who have had the misfortune 
to be caught in a net in the execution of our 
military duty, and to be dragged away by 
the enemy with all the helpless buoyancy of 



by LiOOgl* 



captive balloons, will be able to appreciate 
the sensations of the four children to whom 
this gloomy catastrophe had occurred* 

The net was very strong— made of twisted 
fibrous filaments of seaweed ; all efforts to 
break it were vain. And they had, unfortu- 
nately, nothing to cut it with. They had 
not even their oyster-shells, the rough edges 
of which might have done something to help, 
or at least would have been useful weapons 
if, and when, the Infantryman stopped and 
opened the net. The discomfort of their 
position was extreme. They were, as Cathy 
put it, all mixed up with each other's 
arms and legs, and it was very difficult and 
painful to sort themselves out without 
hurting each other. 

" Let's do it one at a time/' said Mavis, 
after some minutes of severe and unsuccessful 
struggle. " France first. Get ri^ht away, 
France, and see if you can't sit down on a 
piece of the net that isn't covered with us, 
and then Cathy can try." 

It was excellent advice, and when all four 
had followed it it was found possible to sit 
side bv side on what may be called the floor 
of the net, only the squeezing of the net- 
walls tended to flip one up from one's place 
if one wasn't very careful. 

By the time the rearrangement was com- 
plete and they were free to look about them 
the whole aspect of the world had changed. 
The world, for one thing, was much darker— 
in itself, that is— though the part of it where 

voj. xki.— ia 

by Google 

the children were was much lighter than had 
been the sea where they were first netted. 
It was a curious scene— rather like looking 
down on London at night from the top of St. 
Paul's, Long, bright things — like trams or 
omnibuses — were rushing along, and smaller 
lights, which looked mightily like cabs and 
carriages dotted the expanse of blackness 
till, where they were thick-set, the darkness 
disappeared in a blaze of silvery light. Other 
light-bearers had rows of round lights like 
the portholes of great liners. One came 
sweeping towards them, and a wild idea 
came to Cathy that perhaps when ships sink 
they go on living and moving under water 
just as she and the others had done. 
Anyhow, this was not one of them, for, as it 
came close, it was plainly to be perceived as 
a vast fish, with phosphorescent lights in 
rows along its gigantic sides. It opened its 
jaws as it passed, and for an instant they 
shut their eyes and felt that all was over. 
When their eyes were opened again the 
mighty fish was far away, Cathy, however, 
was discovered to be in tears* 

(i I wish we hadn't come," she said, and the 
others could not but feel that there was some- 
thing in what she said. They comforted her 
and themselves as best they could by express- 
ing a curious half-certainty which they had 
that everything would be all right in the end. 
As I said before, there are some things so 
horrible that if you ran bring yourself bo ta. e 
them you see at once that they can't be true. 

Original from 




The barest idea of poetic justice — which we 
all believe in at the bottom of our hearts — 
made it impossible to think that the children 
who had nobly (they couldn't help feeling it 
was noble) defended their friends the Mer- 
folk should have anything really dreadful 
happen to them in consequence. And when 
Bernard talked about the fortunes of war, he 
did it in an unconvinced sort of way, and 
Francis told him to shut up. 

" But what are we to do ? " sniffed 
Cathy, for the twentieth time — and all the 
while the Infantryman was going steadily 
on dragging the wretched netful after him. 

" Press our pearl buttons/' suggested 
Francis, hopefully, " then we shall be 
invisible and unfeelable, and we can escape." 
He fumbled with the round, marble -like 

" No, no," said Bernard, catching at his 
hand. " Don't you see ? If we do, we may 
never get out of the net. If they can't see 
us or feel us they'll think the net's empty, 
and perhaps hang it up on a hook or put it 
away in a box." 

" And forget it while years roll by. / 
see," said Cathy. 

" But we can undo them the minute we're 
there, can't we ? " said Mavis. 

" Yes, of course," said Bernard, but as a 
matter of fact they couldn't. 

When at last the Infantryman, after thread- 
ing his way through streets of enormous rocky 
palaces, passed through a colossal arch and 
so into a hall as big as St. Paul's and West- 
minster Abbey into one, a crowd of Under- 
folk, who were seated on stone benches round 
rude tables eating strange luminous food, 
rose up and cried, " What news ? " 

11 Four prisoners," said the Infantryman. 
" ' Upperfolk,' the Colonel said, and my orders 
are to deliver them to the Queen herself." 

He passed to the end of the hall and up a 
long, wide flight of steps made of something 
so green and clear that it was plainly either 
glass or emerald, and I don't think it could 
have been glass, because how could they have 
made glass in the sea ? There were lights 
below it which shone through the green trans- 
parency, so clear and lovely that Francis 
said, dreamily : — 

Sabrina fair, 

Listen where thou art sitting 

Under the glassy cool traaslucent wave. 

And quite suddenly there was much less room 
in the net and they were being embraced all 
at once and with tears of relief and joy by the 
Princess Freia — their own Mer-Princess. 
" Oh, I didn't mean to, Princess, dear — I 

didn't," said Francis. " It was the emerald 
steps — made me think of translucent." 

" So they are," she said ; " but, oh, if you 
knew what I've felt ! You, our guests, our 
knight-err ants, our noble defenders, to be 
prisoners ; and all of us safe ! I did so hope 
you'd call me. And I'm so proud that you 
didn't — that you were brave enough not to 
call for me until you did it by accident." 

" We never thought of doing it," said Mavis, 
candidly ; " but I hope we shouldn't have, if 
we had thought of it." 

" Why haven't you pressed your pearl 
buttons ? " she asked, and they told her why. 

" Wise children," she said ; " but at any 
rate, we must all use the charm that prevents 
our losing our memories." 

" I sha'n't use mine," said Cathy. " I 
don't want to remember. If I didn't remem- 
ber I should forget to be frightened. Do 
please let me forget to remember." She 
clung pleadingly to the Princess, who whis- 
pered to Mavis, " Perhaps it would be best," 
and they let Cathy have her way. 

The others had only just time to use their 
charms before the Infantryman threw the 
net on to a great table which seemed to be 
cut out of one vast diamond and fell on his 
face on the ground. It was his way of salut- 
ing his Sovereign. 

" Prisoners, your Majesty," he said, when 
he had got up again. " Four of the young of 
the Upperfolk," and he turned to the net 
as he spoke and stopped short. " There's 
someone else," he said, in an altered voice; 
" someone as wasn't there when we started, 
I'll swear." 

" Open the net," said a strong, sweet voice, 
" and bid the prisoners stand up that I may 
look upon them." 

" They might escape, my love," said 
another voice, anxiously ; "or perhaps they 
bite. What?" 

" Submersia," said the first voice, u do you 
and four of my women stand ready. Take 
the prisoners one by one. Seize each a 
prisoner and hold them, awaiting my Royal 

The net was opened, and large and strong 
hands took out Bernard, who was nearest 
the mouth of the net, and held him gently, 
but with extreme firmness, in an upright 
position on the table. Then the others. 
They could not stand because of their tails. 

They saw before them on a throne a tall 
and splendid Queen, very beautiful and very 
sad, and by her side a King (they knew the 
Royalty by their crowns), not so handsome as 
his wife, but still very different from the 

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uncouth, - heavy Underfolk. And he looked 
sad, too. They were clad in robes of richest 
woven seaweed, sewn with jewels, and their 
crowns were like dreams of magnificence. 
Their throne was of one clear, blood-bright 
ruby, its canopy of green drooping sea- 
weed gemmed with topazes and amethysts. 
The Queen rose and came down the steps of 
the throne and whispered to her whom she 
called Submersia, and she in turn whispered 
to the four other large ladies, who held 
each a captive. 

And with a dreadful unanimity the five 
acted — with one dexterous movement they 
took off the magic jackets, and with another 
they removed the useful tails. The Princess 
and the four children stood upon the table on 
their own ten feet. 

" What funny little things ! " said the King, 
not unkindly. 

" Hush ! " said the Queen. " Perhaps they 
can understand what you say — and, at any 
rate, that Mer-girl can." 

The children were furious to hear their 
Princess so disrespectfully spoken of. But 
she herself remained beautifully calm. 

" Now/' said the Queen, " before we destroy 
your memories, will you answer questions ? " 

" Some questions, yes ; others, no/' said 
the Princess. 

" Are these human children ? " 

" Yes." 

" How do they come under the sea ? " 

" Mer-magic. You wouldn't understand," 
said the Princess, haughtily. 

" Were they fighting against us ? " 

" Yes," cried Bernard and Mavis, before 
the Princess answered. " And lucky to do it," 
Francis added. 

" If you will tell us the fighting strength 
of the Merlanders your tails and coats shall 
be restored to you and you shall go free. 
Will you tell ? " 

" Is it likely ? " the Princess answered. 
" I am a Mer- woman and a Princess of the 
Royal House. Such do not betray their 

" No, I suppose not," said the Queen. And 
she paused a moment before she said, 
" Administer the cup of forgetfulness." 

The cup of forgetfulness was exceedingly 
pleasant. It tasted of toffee and cocoa-nuts 
and pineapple ices and plum-cake and roast 
chicken, with a faint under-flavour of lavender, 
rose-leaves, and the very best eau-de Cologne. 

The children had tasted cider-cup and 
champagne-cup at parties, and had disliked 
both, but oblivion-cup was delicious. It was 
served in a goblet of opal, coloured in dreamy- 

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pink and pearl — and green and blue and grey 
— and the sides of the goblet were engraved 
with pictures of beautiful people asleep. The 
goblet passed from hand to hand, and when 
each had drunk enough the Lord High Cup- 
bearer, a very handsome, reserved-looking 
fish, laid a restraining touch on the goblet 
and, taking it between his fins, handed it to 
the next drinker. So, one by one, each took 
the draught. Kathleen was the last. 

The draught had no effect on four out of 
the five — but Kathleen changed before their 
eyes, and though they had known that the 
draught of oblivion would make her forget, 
it was terrible to see it do its fell work. 

Mavis had her arm protectingly round 
Kathleen, and the moment the draught had 
been swallowed Kathleen threw off that 
loving arm and drew herself away. It hurt 
like a knife. Then she looked at her brothers 
and sisters, and it is a very terrible thing 
when the eyes you love look at you as though 
you were a stranger. 

Now, it had been agreed, while still the 
captives were in the net, that all of them 
should pretend that the cup of oblivion had 
taken effect, that they should just keep still 
and say nothing and look as stupid as they 
could. But this coldness of her dear Cathy's 
was more than Mavis could bear, and no one 
had counted on it. So when Cathy looked at 
Mavis as at a stranger whom she rather 
disliked, and drew away from her arm, Mavis 
could not bear it, and cried out in heart- 
piercing tones, " Oh, Cathy, darling, what 
is it ? What's the matter ? " before the 
Princess or the boys could stop her. And 
to make matters worse, both boys said in a 
very loud, plain whisper, " Shut up, Mavis," 
and only the Princess kept enough presence 
of mind to go on saying nothing. 

Cathy turned and looked at her sister. 

" Cathy, darling," Mavis said again, and 
stopped, for no one could go on saying 
" darling " to anyone who looked at you as 
Cathy was looking. 

" I don't know you," said Kathleen, coldly, 
" and I wash you wouldn't call me Cathy. I 
think it's awful cheek ! " 

She held out her arms to the Under Queen, 
and the Queen took her and held her ; and 
the Queen looked exactly like a giant little 
girl nursing a doll. 

" She shall be mine," said the Queen to her 
husband. " I will make a pet of her. I have 
never had a land-child for a pet before. 
Dear little thing ! It shall have a collar and 
chain, it shall, and I will lead it about till 
it gets to know me. You'll like that, won't 
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you, pet ? " she said, caressing Kathleen, who, 
to the horror of the others, answered : " Yes, 
awfully, dear Queen," and kissed the caressing 

"As for the rest of you," said the Queen, 
"it is evident from your manner that the 
draught of oblivion has not yet taken effect 
on you. So it is impossible for me to make 
presents of you to those prominent members 
of the nobility who are wanting pets, as I 
had intended. We will try another draught 
to-morrow. In the meantime — the fetters, 
jailer ! " 

A tall, sour-looking Underman stepped 
forward. Hanging over his arm were scaly 
tails, at first sight of which the children's 
hearts leaped, for they hoped they were their 
own. But no sooner were the tails fitted 
on than they knew the bitter truth. 

" Yes," said the Queen, " they are false tails. 
You will not be able to take them off, and you 
can neither swim nor walk with them. You 
can, however, move about quite comfortably 
on the floor of the ocean. What's the 
matter ? " she asked the jailer. 

" None of the tails won't fit this prisoner, 
your Majesty," said the jailer. 

" I am a Princess of the reigning Mer- 
House," said Freia, " and your false, degrading 
tails cannot cling to me." 

" Oh, put them all in the lock-up," said the 
King. " As sullen a lot of prisoners as ever 
I saw — what ? " 

The lock-up was a great building, broader 
at the top than at the bottom, which seemed 
to be balanced on the sea floor, but really it 
was propped up at both ends with great 
chunks of rock. The prisoners were taken 
there in the net, and being dragged about in 
nets is so confusing that it was not till the 
jailer had left them that they discovered 
that the prison was really a ship, an enormous 
ship, which lay there, perfect in every detail 
as on the day when it first left dock. The 
water did not seem to have spoiled it at all. 
They were imprisoned in the saloon, and, 
worn out with the varied emotions of the day, 
they lay down on the comfortable red velvet 
cushions and went to sleep. Even Mavis felt 
that Kathleen had found a friend in the 
Queen and was in no danger. 

The Princess was the last to close her eyes. 
She looked long at the sleeping children. 

" Oh, why don't they think of it ? " she 
said. " And why mustn't I tell them ? " 

There was no answer to either question, 
and presently she, too, slept. 

I wish I had time to tell you about all that 
happened to Kathleen, because the daily life 

by Google 

of a pampered lap-child to a reigning Queen 
is one that you would find most interesting 
to read about. As interesting as your 
Rover or Binkie would find to read — if he 
could — about the life of one of Queen Alex- 
andra's Japanese spaniels. But time is 
getting on, and I must make a long story 
short. And, anyhow, you can never tell all 
about everything, can you ? 

The next day the jailer brought food to 
the prison, as well as another draught of 
oblivion, which, of course, had no effect, and 
they spent the day wondering how they 
could escape. In the evening the jailer's 
son brought more food and more oblivion- 
cup, and he lingered while they ate. The 
food was odd but not nasty. He did not 
look at all unkind, and Francis ventured to 
speak to him. 

" I say," he said. 

" What do you say ? " the Underlad asked* 

" Are you forbidden to talk to us ? " 

" No." 

" Then do tell us what they will do with 

" I do not know. But we shall have to 
know before long. The prisons are filling up 
so quickly they will soon be quite full. Then 
we shall have to let some of you out on what 
is called ticket-of-leave ; that means with 
your artificial tails on, which prevent you 
getting away, even if the oblivion-cup doesn't 
take effect." 

" I say." Bernard's turn to ask. 

" What do you say ? " 

" Why don't the King and Queen go and 
fight, like the Mer Royal Family ? " 

"Against the law," said the Underlad* 
" We took a King prisoner once, and our people 
were afraid our King and Queen might be 
took, so they made that rule." 

" What did you do with him — the prisoner 
King ? " the Princess asked. 

" Put him in an iswater," said the lad ; " a 
piece of water entirely surrounded by land." 

" I should like to see him," said the Princess. 

" Nothing easier," said the Underlad, " as 
soon as you get your tickets-of -leave. It's a 
good long passage to the lake — all water, of 
course ; but lots of our young people go there 
three times a week. Of course, he can't be a 
King any more now, but they made him 
Professor of Conchology." 

" And has he forgotten he was a King ? " 
asked the Princess. 

" Of course ; but he was so learned the 
oblivion-cup wasn't deep enough to make 
him forget everything. That's why he's a 

Original from 



" What was he King of ? " the Princess 
asked, anxiously. 

" He was King of the Barbarians/' said 
the jailer's son, and the Princess sighed. 

" I thought it might have been my father," 
she said. " He was lost at sea, you know." 

The Underlad nodded sympathetically and 
went away. 

" He doesn't seem such a bad sort," said 

" No," said the Princess. " I can't under- 
stand it. I thought all the Underfolk were 
terrible, fierce creatures, cruel and impla- 

" And they don't seem so very different 
from us, except to look at," said Bernard. 

" I wonder," said Mavis, " what the war 
began about ? " 

" Oh, we've always been enemies," said the 
Princess, carelessly. 

" Yes ; but how did you begin being 
enemies ? " 

" Oh, that," said the Princess, " is lost in 
the mists of antiquity — before the dawn of 
history, and all that." 

" Oh ! " said Mavis. 

But when Ulfin came with the next meal 
(did I tell you that the jailer's son's name 
was Ulfin ?), she asked him the same question. 

" I don't know, little land-lady," said 
Ulfin, " but I will find out. My uncle is the 
Keeper of the National Archives, graven on 
tables of stone, so many that no one can count 
them ; but there are smaller tables telling 
what is on the big ones." He hesitated. " If 
I could get leave to show you the Hall of 
the Archives, would you promise not to try 
to escape ? " 

They had now been shut up for two days, 
and would have promised anything in reason. 

" You see, the prisons are quite full now," 
he said, " and I don't see why you shouldn't 
be the first to get your leave-tickets. I'll ask 

" I say," said Mavis. 

" What do you say ? " said Ulfin. 

" Do you know anything about my sister ? " 

" The Queen's new lap-child ? Oh, she's a 
great pet. Her gold collar with her name on 
it came home to-day. My cousin's brother- 
in-law made it." 

" Her name ? Kathleen ? " said Mavis. 

" The name on the collar is Fido," said Ulfin. 

The next day U fin brought their tickets-, 
of-leave, made of the leaves of the tree of 
Liberty which grows at the bottom of the 
well where Truth lies. 

" Don't lose them," he said, " and come 
with me." 

by Google 

They found it quite possible to move along 
slowly on hands and tails, though they looked 
rather like seals as they did so. 

He led them through the strange streets 
of massive passages, pointing out the buildings 
and giving them their names, as you might do 
if you were showing the marvels of your own 
city to a stranger. 

" That's the Astrologer's Tower," he said, 
pointing to a huge building high above the 
others. " The wise men sit there and observe 
the stars." 

" But you can't ree the stars down here ? " 

" Oh, yes, we can. The tower is fitted up 
with tubes and mirrors and water-trans- 
parence apparatus. The wisest men in the 
country are there — all but the Professor of 
Conchology. He's the wisest of all. He 
invented the nets that caught you ; or, rather, 
making nets was one of the things that he 
had learned and couldn't forget." 

" But who thought of using them for 
catching prisoners ? " 

" I did," said Ulfin, proudly. " I'm to 
have a glass medal for it." 

" Do you have glass down here ? " 

" A little comes down, you know. It is 
very precious. We engrave it. That is the 
Library — millions of tables of stone. The 
Hall of Public Joy is next it. That garden is 
the Mothers' Garden, where they go to rest 
while their children are at school. That's 
one of our schools. And here's the Hall of 
Public Archives." 

The Keeper of the Records received them 
with grave courtesy. The daily sight of 
Ulfin had accustomed the children to the 
appearance of the Underfolk, and they no 
longer found their strange, mournful faces 
terrifying, and the great hall, where, on 
shelves cut out of the sheer rock, were stored 
the graven tables of Under-world records, was 
very wonderful and impressive. 

" What is it you want to know ? " said 
the Keeper, rolling away some of the stones 
he had been showing them. " ULin said 
there was some special thing." 

" Why the war began," said Francis. 

" Why the King and Queen are different," 
said Mavis. 

" The war," said the Keeper of the Records, 
" began about three million five hundred and 
seventy-nine thousand three hundred and 
eight years ago. An Underman, getting off 
his sea-horse in a hurry, stepped on the tail 
of a sleeping Merman. He did not apologize, 
because he was under a vow not to speak for 
a day and an hour. If the Mer-people had 
only waited, he would have explained ; but 
Original from 




they went to war at once, and, 
of course , after that you 
couldn't expect him to apolo- 
gize. And the war has gone 
on off and on and on and off 
ever since." 

li And won't it ever stop ? " 
asked Bernard. 

41 Not till we apologize , which, 
of course, we can't, or till they 

"they found it quite possible to move along 


find out why the war began and that it wasn't 
our fault.' 1 

" How awful ! " said Mavis, " Then it's 
all really about nothing ? H 

i( Quite so," said the Keeper, li What are 
your wars about ? The other question I 
shouldn't answer, only I know you'll forget 
it when the oblivion-cup begins to work, 
Ulfin tells me it hasn't begun yet. Our 
King and Queen are imported. We used to 
be a Republic, but Presidents were so uppish 
and so grasping , and all their friends and 
relations, too, so we decided to be a Monarchy, 
and that all jealousies might be taken away 
we imported the two handsomest land-folk 
we could find. They've been a great success, 
andj as they have no relations, we find it 
much less expensive." 

{To be concluded.) 

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Original from 


\Wt shall be glad to reaive ConMhuiiom to this stctwtt, and to pay for such as are am/*/*/.] 


AT different times j Pictures ha\'e appeared in The 
Strand Magazine of various things made 
with tram or omnibus tickets, but I think the house 
shown iu the accompanying illustration beats them alh 
The number of tickets used was 9.500 — all being from 
the No* 20 service — while the fares paid for them 
amount to £64 8s* iod. The tickets were folded 
together in fours of each colour, ?>., pink, white, 
yellow, blue, green, purple, hel lot rape, and orange. 


THIS photograph, which was taken at Beacon 
Hill Park, Victoria, British Columbia, on 
February 17th this year, shows my little daughter, 
Lillian tiould t feeding the swans. It certainly makes 
a pretty picture, but the snapshot is sent to you for 
quite another reason. It contains a hidden portrait, 
which you will notice on turning the picture upside 
down, and the face which stands out so clearly very 
much resembles that of Mr. Arthur J. Balfour, — Mr. 
F- H. Gould, 250, Young Street, Winnipeg Man-, 



NE is familiar with " Beware of the Trains/' 
Beware of the Steam- Roller," and other 
warning signs, but it has 
— „ been left to the military 
authorities to erect the 
first signboard warning 
people against aeroplanes* 
This is erected on Sail*- 
bury Plain, near the 
Central Flying School, 
where the naval and mili- 
tary flying men are 
trained; and there is good 
reason for the danger- 
board, for on busy 
days aeroplanes pass 
and repass over I he 
plain with such 
frequency that an 
unsuspecting civilian 
might easily receive 
damage from one 
of the defensive 
" wasp " of Great 
Britain. The dsiy is 
not far distant, pro- 
bably, when similar 
notice boards will be 
seen all over the 
country.— Mr. C.J. L. 
Clarke, 5 and 6, 
Johnson's Court, 
Fleet Street, E,C 

Needless to suy% it took me a long time to obtain 
enough tickets to make up a sufficient number of sets 
of the different colours. The height of the model is 
1 ft. 6in., the length ift, 6in., and the depth if l. — Mr. 
H, Lawson, 13, Dewsbury Crescent, Ch is wick. 


THIS title can certainly be claimed by Mr. Dick 
Crane for the conveyance he used when 
running the mails in Alaska. It consisted of a bicycle, 
without pedals, fitted with a heavy horse saddle, to 
which was harnessed, of all unlikely animals, a well- 
gTOwn bear ! The quaint vehicle and the still more 
extraordinary steed which pulled it about the country 
have been exhibited in London and elsewhere, ana, 
naturally enough, have aroused the greatest interest. 
— Mr + C. J, L. Clarke, 5 and 6, Johnson's Court, Fleet 
Street, E.C. 






THE above photograph suggests an excellent idea 
for those who happen to live in a " tramp " 
district, as the old ada^e *' Once bit, twice shy/' would 
assuredly hold good in this case. Were it not for the 
fact that this "snap" was taken b the Vak of 
Aylesbury, and that the " pursuer " is stuffed, the 
consequences might be quite as serious as the picture 
suggests.- — >Mt* Stanley H. Robinson, 167, Caste* lain 
Mansions, Maida Vale, W* 

T^HIS monument erected to the " memory of 
± Adam, the first man," is the only one of its 
kind in America, and prohably in the world. It was 
erected in 1900 by Mr* John P* Brady, a well-known 
contractor and builder, of Baltimore, at his country 
place, i+ Ilkkory Ground," near Oardeiiville, in the 
north-eastern suburbs of Baltimore, Maryland. It is 
composed of stone, bronze, and cement, and is sur- 
mounted by a very lar^e and accurate sundial, 
especially calculated and constructed for the latitude 
in which the monument is erected, N. Lat. 39° 2o' # 

Surrounding the hour figures, in a circle on the dial, is 
the motto, " Sic Transit (Iloria Mundi fl (So Passes the 
Glory of the World), and the date, J 909, and on either 
side of the shaft is a sunken panel with sunken letters, 
the two reading : — 
" This, the Pirst Shaft 12* America, is Erected 

To the Memory of Adam, the First Man/' 
The monument has naturally attracted much atten- 
tion* Mr. Brady has stated, among other things, in a 
newspaper interview, that " where so many others of 
lesser worth have been honoured, he thought it about 
time that something was done for Adam."— Mr* Claude 
L. Wool ley, 302, W. Madison Street, Baltimore, 
Maryland, U.S.A. 


THE REV. H. K. WOODWARD, while acting 
as Chaplain to the City of London Mental 
Hospital at Stone, got the accompanying snapshot, in 
August* 1912, While the hospital team was batting 
a rather erratic bowler of the North Kent United £jot 
in a straight one, and as a result I lie oil bail fell off mid 

the leg IkiII slid along and balanced itself on the middle 
stump. Seeing that something unusual had hapjjencd 
Drs* Patterson and Simpson and the Chaplain ran to 
the wicket, with the result that out of the Chaplain's 
bag was produced a camera — and here we have the 
result. Have any of our readers ever seen quite the 
same thing ? 

Solution of 

Last Month's 


The bystander was right* A and E could win jivt tricks out 
of the sc**en h Pliy as follows : — 

Tht card underlined tvitu the trick. Tk* curd immediate!} 
htwalh it Ud A> the next trick. 

B Z 

Spades 4 Hearts 3 

Clubs knave Clubs B 
Clubs 9 

A Y 

Hearts queen Heart s king 
Clubs 4 CI ubs 6 ? 

Hvari* knave 3 Cluba io 
Hearts 7 

Hearts 4 

Clubs 7 

Spades knave Hearts 6 
And B must win the rest* 

by Google 

If, ni Trick ? t Y leads a diamond, A trumps his partner's king 
with the 4 + and A 1J win sk tricks* This was the play that A 
had in vieWj but Y knew better than to fall into the trap- 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 


by Google 

Original from 




PWotfrapks by HERBERT G. PONTING, F.R.G.S., Camera Artist 

to ike Expedition. 

This and the articles which are to follow are related from the journals of Captain 
Scott, and give the first connected story of the British Antarctic Expedition, 1910-1913. 
The story has been told from the journals by Mr. Leonard Huxley, well known as 
the biographer of his celebrated father, and carefully read and revised by Commander 
Evans, R.N. With few exceptions, all the photographs, which have been selected 
from many hundreds, are here published for the first time. 


At Hut Point. 

N March 6th they took up their 
abode in the old Discovery hut 
at the south end of Ross 
Island, which had now been 
transformed from its pre- 
viously uninhabitable con- 
dition. Hut Point was their 
home for over five weeks, while they waited 
for the Sound to freeze over and afford a 
road back to the station; for inspection of 
the land from the height of Castle Rock was 
adverse. " There is no doubt that the route 
to Cape Evans lies over the worst corner of 
Erebus. From this distance the whole 
mountain-side looks a mass of crevasses, but 

Vol. xlvi.— 17. Copyright, 1913, by " Everybody's Maga 

a route might be found at a level of three 
or four thousand feet." 

This season it was a stormy spot, with 
much wind and three gales in the first fort- 
night, " any one of which would have rendered 
the bay impossible for a ship, and therefore 
it is extraordinary that we should have 
entirely escaped such a blow when the 
Discovery was in it in 1902." 

Trouble With the Blubber-Stove. 

One result of the wind was to make the 
blubber-stove smoke, so that " we are all as 
black as sweeps and our various garments 
are covered with oily soot. We look a fearful 
gang of ruffians. The hut has a pungent 

/.ine," in the Uni**i States of America. 














odour of blubber and blubber-smoke. We have 
grown accustomed to it, but imagine that our- 
selves and our clothes will be given a wide 
berth when we return to Cape Evans." 

The time was occupied in various small 
activities — the conveying of more stores to 
Corner Camp, seal-hunting, the manufacture 
of new and improved blubber-stoves, 
geological excursions to the curious volcanic 
rocks on the hills above, investigation of the 
growing ice, often with fish frozen in — one, 
indeed, in the act of swallowing a smaller 
fish — or study of the air-currents over the 
ridge. But it was ill waiting, with so much 
to reorganize, and so much of the transport 
gone, and the dogs suffering from the weather. 
The majority were at last allowed to run loose, 
at the risk of a murder or two ; but the 
strongest could not be given such liberty 
without fear of widespread destruction. 

When at last the ice was firm enough for a 
start, Scott and his advance guard took two 
days to reach Cape Evans, being forced to 
camp in a blizzard under one of the islands, 
with some expectation of finding the ice 
break up again under them. So with great 
exertion they reached the station early on 
April 13th, and the next day, Good Friday, is 
marked by the unusual entry, " Peaceful day." 

Great was the relief to find how baseless 
were his recent fears lest the storms that had 
raged at Cape Armitage on the depot journey 
should have damaged the new hut at Cape 
Evans ; for, although over a hundred feet 
from the shore, it stood but eleven feet 
above high-water mark, and with such 
abnormal conditions as had led to the loss 
of the ponies and the breaking of Glacier 
Tongue, it might well be that his careful 
calculations had been falsified, and the worst 
might have happened to those left at the base. 
All was well, but for one item of bad news : the 
death of another pony, nicknamed Hacken- 
schmidt, from his vigorous use of forelegs as 
well as hindlegs when obstreperous; and it 
was with mingled feelings that the captain 
could look upon the remnant of his teams 
safe in their stable. Hackenschmidt was an 
intractable beast. Now that he was required 
to get into good condition, he had pined away, 
as his keeper, Anton, firmly believed, out of 
" cussedness," a fixed determination to do 
no work for the expedition. 

At Main Hut— The Ingenuities of the 

Otherwise the hut was a revelation of per- 
fect arrangement. It had been a sound and 

Digitized by LiOOQ IC 

promising resting-place in the early days when 
Scott left it for his depot-laying trip ; now it 
not only seemed positively luxurious, with the 
possibility of a bath after three months of 
primitive existence, but it possessed charm 
as well as comfort in the fittings set up by 
the various workers in their allotted places. 
There could be no higher symbol of the tri- 
umph of mind over matter than " Simpson's 
Corner," a perfect meteorological station 
established within, so connected with the 
instruments without that in the fiercest 
storms, the most piercing cold, the observer 
could take his records without going outside, 
with danger of frost-bite to himself and 
uncertainty in taking the record. Ther- 
mometer and barometer, wind-gauge, electrical 
instruments, all told their tale at a glance. 
Then came the photographer's room, another 
triumph. Ponting, trained to be a " handy- 
man " by much travel, had created his work- 
shop out of such material as he could lay 
hands upon. He had in order all the means 
for bringing his beautiful work to perfection, 
calling forth the description of him as "an 
artist in love with his work." 

Next the science department, and the 
biologists with their microscopes — neatness 
and good carpentry conspicuous in the well- 
finished shelves. Not least remarkable, 
because most unexpected, the mechanical 
genius of Clissold, the excellent cook, who, it 
turned out, had enjoyed a mechanician's 
training before he took to pots and pans. 
To ensure the proper baking of his bread in 
the none too large oven, he had devised an 
arrangement by which the bread, as it " rose," 
rang an electric bell to warn him. No wonder 
that he came to be regarded as a specialist 
to be consulted in motor ailments. 

The Ponies. 

The stables — now holding ten beasts only 
out of the original nineteen, alas ! — gave 
double room to most and space to lie down, 
if necessary, when the floor could have some 
covering to prevent chill. For the time they 
were exercised by riding barebacked over the 
beach ; perhaps a risky proceeding where the 
shore was so strewn with boulders. Demetri, 
who tended them, had enthusiastically 
practised the building of shelters such as 
should be used on the march. All that 
could be done was being done. 

Inspection of one department after another 
produced a deep impression. " I was gradu- 
ally brought to realize," writes Scott, " what 
an extensive ^f^n intricate, but eminently 







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satis fact or y, organization I had made myself 
responsible for." 

Four days' rest, and Scott headed a double 
sledge party to take supplies to the party held 
up at Hut Point till the new ice should form a 
level road again for the ponies instead of the 
difficult inland route from the glacier over the 
heights of Castle Rock + This did not happen 
till the middle of May, Meantime the increas- 
ing cold indicated the end of the sledging 
season. The obstacles became harder ; faces 
got frost-bitten, and feet grew cold in the 
long effort to climb the wall of the ice- foot. 
The drift of frozen snow-dust was streaming 
off the cliff ; the rope that had let them down 
four days before was now buried at both ends ; 

the only means of scaling the wall was to un- 
load a sledge and hold it end up on men's 
shoulders, while Scott himself clambered up 
this impromptu ladder, and with an ice-axe 
cut steps over the cornice. 

Scaling an Ice Wall. 

With the Alpine rope he helped up others, 
then the gear was hauled up piecemeal and 
repacked. " For Crean, the last man up, we 
lowered the sledge over cornice and used 
a bowline in other end of rope on top of it- 
He came up grinning with delight, and we all 
thought the ascent rather a cunning piece of 
work." The*!?rUin«ifWiT[he bone, they all 




dashed up the slope, regardless of cre- 
vasses . to n>Uin- r in -ii hit ion. All went 
well, however, but for a storm that 
kept them at the Hut for an extra day. 
No weather for sledging : " The wind 
blowing round the cape absolutely 
blighting — force 7 and temperature 

p _ A _] .. Original from 




(bVf >*'V 


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CJ*rt thDIIf W.O* WiL»OM.»owiw4. ANO f,**»AH(l ; 

Ct- mil jdunh*v (tw(Ul) aUT<v*4H« «V IHif ^^«OU 


below - y>°" Yet Scott, anxious to discover 
what effect such conditions had on the for- 
mation of new ice, i£ took a walk to Cape 
Armitage" in the gale, and found the ( *sea 
a black cauldron covered with frost -smoke; 
no ice can form in such weather." 

The return, as cold, and culling for as much 
ice-craft as the outward journey, afforded one 
amusing and very human incident. Out on 
the sea-ice " marched to Little Razor Back 
without halt ? our own sledge dragging fear- 
fully. Crean said there was great difference 
in sledges, though loads were equal. Bowers 
politely assented when I voiced this senti- 
ment, but I'm sure he and his party thought 
it the plea of tired men. However, there was 
nothing like proof, and he readily consented 
to change sledges. The difference was really 
extraordinary, We felt the new sledge a 
featherweight compared with the old, and set 
up a great pace for the home quarters, regard- 
less of how much we perspired. We arrived 
at the Hut ten minutes ahead of the others, 
who were by this time quite convinced as to 
the difference in the sledges." 

In Winter Quarters. 

It was now time to settle into winter 
quarters. St. George's Day was the last 
day of the sun ; whereafter came only ,c the 
long, mild twilight which, like a silver clasp, 
unites to-day and yesterday ; when morning 
and evening sit together hand in hand beneath 
the starless sky of midnight." 

Digiiiz&d By ViOOQ IC 

" A theme for a pen/' he muses, lt would 
he the expansion of interest in Polar affairs. 
Compare the interests of a winter spent by 
the old Arctic voyagers with our own, and 
look into the causes. The aspect of everything 
changes as our knowledge expands/ 5 Nor 
is this all ; he notes emphatically elsewhere, 
11 Science, the rock foundation of all effort/' 
Then follows another " impression T * : " The 
expansion of human interest in rude surround- 
ings may perhaps best he illustrated by com- 
parisons. It will serve to recall such a simple 
ease as the fact that our ancestors applied 
the terms ' horrid/ * frightful,' to mountain 
crags; which in our own day are more justly 
admired as lofty, grand, and beautiful* The 
poetic conception of this natural phenomenon 
has followed not so much an inherent change 
of sentiment as the intimacy of wider know- 
ledge and the death of superstitious influence. 
One is much struck by the importance of 
realizing limits." 

These reflections seem to spring from the 
stimulating success of a very notable feature 
of the winter routine. Evening lectures, 
followed by discussions, were given three 
times a week. With so many experts in the 
most varied branches of pure science and the 
practical arts of travel, there was no lack of 
material ; and the readiness to give of their 
best was only exceeded by the enthusiastic 
desire to receive. The unlearned found these 
high things to be but the woof of their daily 
experience ; and as for the learned, one day 
a biologist was rvtrhcarcf offering a geologist 




a pair of socks if he would teach him some 

There were lectures by Wilson on the flying 
birds of the Antarctic and the penguins ; on 
winds and weather in general and in these 
high latitudes by Simpson, with a theory oE 
blizzards, besides descriptions of the magnetic 
and other instruments at work ; the problems 
of biology and parasitism by Nelson and 
Atkinson ; the physiography and geology of 
the neighbourhood and volcanoes by Taylor 
and De ben ham ; ice structure by Wright ; 
the Barrier and the Ice (up, by Scott ; an 
account by Taylor of the great glacier to be 
ascended on the Southern trip and the things 
to look out for. And with ever closer applica- 
tion to immediate needs, the management 
and training of the ponies, by Oates ; survey- 
ing , by Evans ; motor si edges , by Day ; 
sledging diets and Polar clothing, by Bowers ; 
scurvy, by Atkinson ; a general discussion of 
the plans for the Southern trip, set forth by 
Scott himself, so that all might understand 
the why and the wherefore of the arrange- 
ments ; the whole lightened and beautified 
with as many slides as could be made, and 
further by Wilson's lecture on sketching and 
the artistic principles involved ; Meares's 
travels in Central Asia, and Ponting's four 

picture-shows and graphic descriptions of his 
wide-ranging travels. 

Thoroughness was the keynote of the work, 
alike in art and in science. It is recorded 
how Pouting rarely counted his first picture 
good enough, and sometimes five or six plates 
would be exposed before the critical artist was 
satisfied. " This way of going to work 
would perhaps/' notes Scott, l( be more strik- 
ing if it were not common to all our workers 
here, A very demon of unrest seems to stir 
them to effort, and there is not a single man 
who is not striving his utmost to get good 
results in his own particular department," 
" The fact is/ 1 he writes elsewhere, 4< science 
cannot be served by dilettante methods, but 
demands a mind spurred by ambition or the 
satisfaction of ideals/' It was well, there- 
fore^ with the large scientific interests which 
gave the solid justification for the expedition : 
u If the Southern journey comes off t nothing, 
not even priority at the Pole, can prevent the 
expedition ranking as one of the most import- 
ant that ever entered the Polar regions*" 

Scott's Keen Appreciation of His 

Never, it may be believed, has a party 
combined so much of intellectual power 




by t.i' 



with physical fitness, and the result was 
apparent in the high level of mutual appre- 
ciation, of intelligent co-operation, and wise 
enthusiasm. There were mistakes, of course, 
but errors due to excess rather than defect 
of zeal ; while a specialist in some practical 
job might be unequal to the abstract 
calculations connected with it. The salient 
fact was that the human relations, the 
moral and social atmosphere, from first to 
last continued without a cloud. 

Time after time Scott is impelled to note 
this " marked and beneficent characteristic of 
our community ," so greatly due, in his con- 
sidered opinion, to the object-lesson of Wilson's 
patient and thorough work, his constant help 
to others' efforts, and his sound judgment to 
which one and all appealed on matters little 
or great. To quote but one- passage: "I 
am very much impressed with the extra- 
ordinary and general cordiality of the relations 
which exist amongst our people. I do not 
suppose that a statement of the real truth — 
namely, that there is no friction at all — will 
be credited ; it is so generally thought that 
the many rubs of such a life as this are quietly 
and purposely sunk in oblivion. With me 
there is no need to draw a veil ; there is 
nothing to cover. There are no strained 
relations in this hut, and nothing more 
emphatically evident than the universally 
amicable spirit which is shown on all occa- 
sions. Such a state of affairs would be 
delightfully surprising under any conditions ; 
but it is much more so when one remembers 
the diverse assortment of our company. 
This theme is worthy of expansion. To-night 

Oates, captain in a smart cavalry regiment, 
has been ' scrapping ' over chairs and tables 
with Debenham, a young Australian student. 
It is a triumph to have collected such men." 
This interesting and characteristic passage 
is reproduced below in facsimile. 

Outdoor Research. 

Even the winter admitted of various forms 
of outdoor research, apart from keeping the 
meteorological and physical records or work- 
ing out results under the roof of the hut. In 
the ice-holes, sedulously kept open, were 
fish-traps, which supplied Dr. Atkinson with 
specimens for his novel and interesting 
investigations into parasites ; in another, a 
tide-gauge, and farther out an instrument for 
measuring the sea-currents. Many new obser- 
vations of curious facts were but re-discoveries 
of what had been found ten years before, but 
not published. Local geology, the ice and its 
growth, offered obvious fields for observation. 


More novel were experiments with Simpson's 
small balloons to test the air -currents and 
the temperature of the upper air. 

As the balloon travelled a three-mile thread 
of silk ran put along the ground, so that its 
course could afterwards be traced. A slow 
match between the balloon and the recording 
instrument, with its parachute, was timed to 
burn through after an ascent of so many 
minutes, and the instrument floated to earth. 

Records were also kept of the men's weight 

*£*+ *t* fan* u-tf-w/ lr dx^L^ a. **~t , ^Efc4*. r»" h^C^" 








A*^_ ^^ J J- m J * 

and measurements. On the whole " we have 
remained surprisingly constant/' but there 
seemed to be improvement in lung power and 

"Many Inventions." 

Practical work of all sorts went forward 
with a view to the needs of future expedi- 
tions. We read of Petty-Officer Evans, with 
his usual ingenuity, devising new forms of 
ski-boots and crampons to be used with the 
warm finnesko, or fur boots, providing 
lightness, warmth, comfort, and ease ; of 
Cherry-Garrard starting practice in building 
stone huts and Eskimo igloos likely to be 
needed on the winter expedition to the penguin 
rookery in which he was to take part, while 
later others joined in, and special knives were 
designed for cutting the icy slabs that compose 
the igloo walls. Scott experimented in person 
upon the comfort of a hole in the snow, and 
found it as excellently warm as the dogs 
seemed to find it. Debenham invented a 
" go-cart," or sledge on wheels, which in 
certain conditions of the snow ran better than 
on the ordinary runners. Day and Lashley 
invented a simple and effective stove to burn 
blubber, which was to prove of the utmost 
service on expeditions near the sea, when seals 
could be found. Officers who were to take 
part in the expeditions perfected themselves 
in such branches of surveying as would be 

useful for charting their journeys and finding 
their way. 


Telephones were established with great 
effect, the first to the isolated chamber in 
the neighbouring ice-hill, where magnetic 
instruments and pendulums were at work in 
an even temperature, so that accurate time 
signals could be transmitted between these 
and the transit instrument in the interior 
of the hut. Another was taken to the ice- 
hole, three-quarters of a mile away, where 
Nelson had the tide-gauge. Here connection 
was made with a bare aluminium wire and 
earth return, the success of whjch encouraged 
them to the bold scheme of linking up with 
Hut Point, fifteen miles away. This, too, 
worked admirably ; it was no small relief and 
satisfaction to be in touch with this distant 
outpost and to have instant news of the various 
parties who went out depot-laying, or of 
Ttfeares when he chose this hermitage for 
undisturbed training of the dogs. 

Scott's Own Description of the Expedi- 
tion to Cape Crozler. 

The most striking event of the winter season 
was the expedition of Wilson, Bowers, and 
Cherry-GarraFdj to the Emperor Penguin 
rookery at Cape Crozier^ the eastern extremity 



of the bland on the opposite side from ("ape 
Evans, and separated from it by all the bulk 
of Mounts Erebus and Terror. The way there 
led south as far as Hut Point, then east over 
the wind-swept Barrier. The three men 
returned to Cape Evans on Augusi ist, after 
a midwinter journey of five weeks , looking 
incredibly weather-worn, chiefly from sheer 
lack of sleep, a deficiency soon remedied, for, 
in all their unparalleled experiences, frost-bite 
had never seriously assailed them. In spirit, 
all were equally unwavering; in physique. 

to continue to work under conditions which 
are absolutely paralyzing to others. 

11 So far as one can gather, the story of 
this journey in brief is much as follows r 
The party reached the Barrier two days after 
leaving Cape Evans, still pulling their full 
load of two hundred and fifty pounds per man. 
The snow surface then changed completely 
and grew worse and worse as they advanced. 
For one day they struggled on as before, 
covering four miles ■ but from this onward 
they w ? ere forced to relay and iound the half- 
load heavier than 





Bow r ers seemed to have come through best. 
" 1 believe/' w r rites Scott, " he is the hardest 
traveller that ever undertook Polar journey, 
as well as one of the most undaunted. More 
by hint than direct statement, I gather his 
value to the party, his untiring energy 5 and 
the astonishing physique which enables him 

the whole one had 
beeji on the sea-ire* 
il Meanwhile the 
temperature had 
been falling, and 
now for more than 
a week the ther- 
mometer fell below 
-{jo*. On one 
night the minimum 
showed 7i° 3 and 
on the next ■ 77 ; 
1 09° of frost! 
Although in this 
truly fearful cold 
the air w T as com- 
paratively still, 
every now and 
again little puffs of 
wind came eddying 
across the snow 
plain with blight- 
ing effect* No 
civilized being has 
ever encountered 
such conditions be- 
fore with only a 
tent of thin canvas 
to rely on for 
shelter. We have 
been looking up 
the records to-day, 
and find that 
Amundsen, on a 
journey to the 
N o r t h magnetic 
pole in March, en- 
countered tempera- 
tures similar in 
degree, and recorded a minimum of - 79°, but 
he was with Eskimos, who built him an igloo 
shelter nightly ; he had a good measure of 
daylight ; the temperatures given are prob- 
ahi v ' unscreened * from radiation ; and 
final lv he turned homeward and regained 
his ship aftl^'W^Ws 1 absence. Our 

ship alter me days ato 




party went on- 
war dj and re- 
mained absent for 
five w&eks. 

11 It took the 
best part of a 
fortnight to cross 
and then, round- 
ing Cape Maekay, 
they entered the 
wind-swept area* 
Blizzard followed 
blizzard, the sky 
was constantly 
overcast, and 
they staggered on 
in a light which 
was little better 
than complete 
darkness ; some- 
times they found 

themselves high on the slopes of Terror on 
the left of their track, and sometimes diving 
into the pressure ridges on the right amidst 
crevasses and confused ice disturbance. 
Reaching the foothills near Cape Oozier ; they 
ascended eight hundred feetj then packed 


their belongings 
over a moraine 
ridge and started 
to build a hut. It 
took three days 
to build the stone 
walls and com- 
plete the roof 
with the canvas 
brought for the 
purpose. Then at 
last theycould at- 
tend to the object 
of the journey. 
Thescant twilight 
at midday was so 
short that they 
must start in the 
dark and be pre- 
pared for the risk 
of missing their 
way in returning 
without light, On the first day in which 
they set forth under these conditions it took 
them two hours to reach the pressure ridges, 
and to clamber over them, roped together, 
occupied nearly the same time. Finally they 
reached a place above the rookery where they 



EM p E rok ™»-. HW ««um|V ERS |tY OF MICHIGAN 



eggs, three of which alone survived, they 
dashed for camp. 

" It is possible the birds are deserting 
th s rookery, but it is also possible that 
this early date found only a small 
minority of the birds which will be col- 
lected at a later one. The eggs, which 
have not yet been examined, should 
throw light on this point. Wilson ob- 
served yet another proof of the strength 
of the nursing instinct in these birds. In 
searching for eggs, both he and Bowers 
picked up rounded pieces of ice which 
these ridiculous creatures had been 
cherishing with fond hope. 

* The light had failed entirely by the 
time the party were clear of the pressure 
ridges on their return, and it was only 
by good luck they regained their camp. 


could hear the birds squawking, but from which 
they were quite unable to find a way down. 
The poor light was failing, and they returned 
to camp. Starting again on the following 
day, they wound their way through frightful 
ice disturbances under the high basalt cliffs ; 
in places the rock overhang., and at one spot 
they had to creep through a small channel 
hollowed in the ice. At last they reached 
the sea-ice T but now the light was so far spent 
they were obliged to rush everything* Instead 
of the two or three thousand nesting birds 
which had been seen here in Discovery days, 
they could now only count about a hundred. 
They hastily killed and skinned three to get 
blubber for their stove, and, collecting six 

Nearly Lost in a Blizzard. 

1 That night a blizzard commenced, 
increasing in fury from moment to 
moment. They now found that the 
place chosen for the hut for shelter was 
worse than useless. They had far better 
have built it in the 
open, for the fierce 
wind, instead of strik- 
ing them directly, was 
deflected on to them in 
furious whirling gusts. 
Heavy blocks of snow 
and rock placed on the 
roof were whirled away 
and the canvas bal- 
looned up, tearing and 
straining at its secur- 
ings — its disappear- 
ance could only be a 
question of time. They 
had erected their tent 
with some valuables inside close to the hut ; 
it had been well spread, and more than 
amply secured with snow and boulders, but 
one terrific gust tore it up and whirled it 
away. Inside the hut they waited for the 
roof to vanish, wondering what they could do 
if it went, and vainly endeavouring to make 
it secure. After fourteen hours it went, as 
they were trying to pin down one corner. 
The smother of snow was on them, and they 
could only dive for their sleeping-bags with 
a gasp. Bowers put his head out once and 
said, * We're all right/ in as near his ordinary 
tones as he could compass* The others 
replied, * Yes, we're all right/ and all was 
silent for a night and luUf a day whilst the 




wind howled on. The snow entered every 
chink and crevice of the sleeping-bajjs, and 
the occupants shivered and wondered how it 
would alt end. 

" Horrible Discomforts," 

" The wind fell at noon the following day ; 
the forlorn travellers crept from their icy 
nests, made shift to spread their floor-cloth 
overhead, and lit their Primus. They tasted 
their first food for forty-eight hours, and 
began to plan a means to build a shelter on the 
homeward route. They decided that they 
must dig a large pit nightly and cover it as 
best they could with their floor-cloth. But 
now fortune befriended them ; a search to 
the north revealed the tent lying[in a sheltered 
dip of the great snow-slope below their camp- 
ing ground I a quarter of a mile away, and, 
strange to relate, practically uninjured, a fine 
testimonial for the material used in its con- 
struction. On the following day they started 
homeward, and immediately another blizzard 
fell on them, holding them prisoners for two 
days. By this time the miserable condition 
of their effects was beyond description. The 
sleeping-bags were far too stiff to he rolled tip 
— in fact, they w r ere so hard -frozen that 

attempts to bend them actually split the 
skins; the eiderdown bags inside Wilson's 
and OG.'s reindeer covers served but to 
fitfully stop the gaps made by such rents. 
All socks; finnesko, and mits had long been 
coated with ice ; placed in breast pockets or 
inside vests at night, they did not even show- 
signs of thawing, much less of drying. It 
sometimes took C.-G. three-quarters of an 
hour to get into his sleeping-bag t so flat did it 
freeze and so difficult was it to open. It is 
scarcely possible to realize the horrible dis- 
comforts of the forlorn travellers as they 
plodded back across the Harrier with the 
temperature again constantly below 6o°. 
In this fashion they reached Hut Point, and 
on the following night our home quarters. 

M One of 

the Host Gallant 
Polar History/' 

Stories In 

11 Wilson is disappointed at seeing so little 
of the penguins, but to me and to everyone 
who has remained here the result of this effort 
is the appeal it makes to our imagination 
as one of the most gallant stories in Polar 
history. That men should wander forth in 
the depth of a Polar night to face the most 
dismal cold and the fiercest gales in darkness 




: midnight sun kffp 

by GOOglC 



is something new; 
that they should 
have persisted in 
this effort in 
spite of every 
adversity for five 
full weeks is 
heroic. It makes 
a tale for our 
generation which 
t hope may not 
be lost in the 

44 Moreover, 
the material re- 
sults are by no 
means despic- 
able. We shall 
know now when 
that extraordi- 
nary bird, the 
Emperor pen- 
guin, lays its 
eggs, and under 
what conditions ; 
but even if our 
information re- 
mains meagre 
concerning i t s 
embryology, our 
party has shown 
the nature of the 
conditions which 
exist on the Great 
Barrier in winter* 
Hitherto we have 
o n fy imagined 
their severity ; 

now we have proof, and a positive light is 
thrown on the local climatology nf our Strait/ ? 

How Dr. Atkinson Got Lost 

To illustrate the perils of a Southern storm, 
Scott's story may be briefly repeated of how 
Dr. Atkinson got lost close to the hut on 
July 4th, It was a stormy day, with 
high wind and a temperature of 25 or 
more below zero. The wind moderated 
slightly in the afternoon, and a visit was 
paid to the upper thermometer screen. 
Then, in adventurous mood, Atkinson re- 
solved to continue and visit the thermometer 
in the North Ray, out on the floe. This was 
at 5.30, Gran, equally venturesome, started 
likewise for the South Hay thermometer ; 
but after two or three hundred yards pru- 
dently turned hack. It took him an hour 
to struggle home in time for dinner at 
6,45* Half an hour later, as various mem- 


hers of the party came out from dinner, they 
were sent a short way to shout and show 
lights, while a big paraffin flare was arranged 
to be lit on Wind Vane HilL A first search- 
party to the north went out. The wind 
rose again some what , but the moon broke 
through the clouds. Vet even with this help 
the wanderer did not return, and at q.2Q the 
search-party came in with no news. Then a 
whole network of search-parties was organized 
to sweep the coast and all the floe as far as 
the outlying islands. There was little prospect 
of Atkinson's having found shelter anywhere, 
and his clothing was too light for such a storm. 
It seemed impossible that he had escaped 
serious accident* At last, at 1145, after 
more than six hours of absence, he was 
brought in from the promontory hard by, 
badly frost-bitten on the hand and less 
severely on the fate, and much dazed, as 
regularly happens e.l;ter such exposure. 






It turned out that before he had gone a 
quarter of a mile towards the thermometer he 
realized that he had better turn back, quilling; 
himself, quite correctly, by the direction of 
the wind. This brought him to an old fish- 
trap, which he knew to be only two hundred 
yards from the headland. He paced the 
distance in what he thought the right direction 
--and found nothing. The effect of u blizzard 
in blunting the faculties— a greater danger 
than mere chill- is shown by the fact that, 
instead of turning cast, where he knew the 
land lay, he dully held on his course, and 
in due time found himself a mile or two 
away at Inaccessible Island, under the lee 
of which he groped his way, suddenly losing 
the cliffs entirely in a swirl of drift when 
he was but a few yards distant from them. 
Only one idea persisted in his brain — 
the homeward course was up wind, and 
up wind he plodded. Bv sheer luck he 

Vol klvL-18. 

hit Tent Island 
four or five miles 
from home, round 
which he walked, 
thinking it In- 
accessible Island, 
and dug himself 
a shelter under 
its lee. When the 
moon came out 
he judged his 
bearings well and 
set off horn e- 
ward. The moon 
went in, and 
soon to his sur- 
prise he found 
the real Inacces- 
sible Island on 
his left. Here he 
waited again, 
expecting t h e 
devastating bliz- 
zard to return, 
till the moon re- 
appeared, then 
shaped his course 
anew, and before 
long saw the flare 
on the headland, 
and so joined 
some of the 
searchers. T h e 
rest did not get 
in till 2 a,m. As 
Atkinson was 
ultimately none 
the worse, his 
narrow escape became the most convincing 
object-lesson to those who might need it on 
the dangers of a blizzard. 

How a Blizzard Comas On. 

These dangers of bewildering wind and 
blinding, choking snow-drift, with cold that 
numbed body and brain, were greatly 
enhanced by the suddenness and absence of 
warning with which they sprang up. Expe- 
rience showed that no weather-sign could be 
trusted as giving warning or not. One night, 
the night of August 21st- 22nd, it was Scott's 
turn to be on night watch, for all the " after- 
guard " took turns to study and record the 
displays of aurora. He records * f the on- 
coming of a blizzard with exceptional begin- 
nings* The sky became very gradually over- 
east between 1 a,m. and 4 a.m. About 2.30 
the temperature rose on a steep grade from 
-20 to " } . The barometer was iull- 




•■ ICE-SPRAY/ 1 


ing— rapidly for these regions. Soon after 
four the wind came with a rush, but without 
snow or drift* For a time it was more gusty 
than has ever yet been recorded even in these 
regions. In one gust the wind rose from four 
to sixty-eight miles per hour, and fell again 
to twenty miles per hour within a minute. 
Another reached eighty miles per hour, but 
not from such a low point of origin. The 
effect in the hut was curious ; for a space all 
would be quiet, then a shattering blast would 

descend with a clatter and rattle past venti- 
lator and chimneys, so sudden, so threatening 
that it was comforting to remember the solid 
structure of our building. The suction of such 
a gust is so heavy that even the heavy snow- 
covered roof of the stable, completely sheltered 
on the lee side of this main building, is violently 
shaken. One could well imagine the plight 
of our adventurers at Cape Crazier when their 
roof was destroyed. The snow which came 
at six lessened the ^usantss and brought the 



j 41 

ordinary phenomena of a 

A^ to the power of 
endurance in these lati- 
tudes, indi% T iduals vary 
greatly. Bovvers and Wil- 
son were peculiarly toler- 
ant of cold. They excited 
the mingled admiration 
and frank envy of their 
companions for being able 
to sally forth in light 
headgear when anyone 
else required muffling up. 

But he laughs best who laughs 
last. One day they presumed too 
far on this immunity, and came 
in with nipped ears. It is uncertain 
whether these members tingled 
more with the cold or with the 
unsparing chaff of their friends. 

But a certain amount of general 
acclimatization undoubtedly took 
place. The journal records, under 
date of July 10th : " To-day ? 
with the temperature at zero, 
one can walk about outside with- 
out inconvenience in spite of a 
fifty-mile wind. Although I am 
loath to believe it, there must 
be some measure of acclimatiza- 
tion, for it is certain we should 
have felt to-day's w ind severely 
when we first arrived in McMurdo 
Sound." And, again, six weeks 
later, in a furious wind and drift 
with temperature of i6°, " it felt 
quite warm outside, and one 
could go about with head un- 
covered—surely impossible in an 
English storm With 16 of frost," 

The activities of the expedi- 
tion spread in many ramifica- 
tions. So ample was the staff 






that it could furnish forth several exploring 
parties and scientific outposts. While Scott 
and his parties were depot -laying in January 
-April, 1911, or away on the great Southern 
journey from the following November, 
geological parties went into the Western 
Mountains. Mention has been made of the 
first, consisting of Griffith Taylor, Debenham, 
Wright, and P.O. Evans, and how, having 
started on January 27th, they joined Scott at 
Hut Point on March r4th, They had crossed 
the Sound , explored and surveyed the Dry 
Valley, the Ferrar and the Koettlitz Glacier 

regions, planting stakes across the ice whereby 
the next comers could determine the move- 
ments of the glacier. The gravels below u 
promising region of limestones, rich in garnets, 
were washed for gold, but only magnetite 
was found. For spice of adventure they had 
their share of hair -breadth escapes when the 
sea-ice suddenly began to break up under 
their feet, and they had a race fur their lives. 
On the second, Taylor and Pebenham, with 
Gran and P.O. Ford, left on November 7th, 
191 1, for Granite Harbour, farther north on 
the westerA-'^fiW" 1 of ikMurdo Sound, and 



were away three and a half months. Going 
slowly, with a heavy load of provisions, they 
built a stone hut in Granite Harbour, pro- 
viding warmth by one of the blubber-stoves 
invented by Atkinson, and obtaining both 
blubber and meat from the numerous seals. 
Apart from their geological notes, especially 
on the fossils, coal and other minerals, and the 
illustrations of glacial action, their strangest 
discovery was, perhaps, that of two species 
of windless insects in their thousands, 
sheltering under pebbles near their head- 

They explored those western highlands on 
which Scott had looked during his short 
Western trip ? daringly passing the huge ice 
falls of the Mackay Glacier by portaging sledge 
and gear up a thousand feet of granite cliffs 
and boulder-strewn slopes. Finally, having 
only ten days' sledging food left, they made 
their wav over the Blue Glacier towards Hut 

Point, and they were picked up by the ship 
on February 15th,* 

As spring drew on, Scott, with Bowers, 
Simpson, and P.O. Evans, went fur thirteen 
days to the Western Mountains, covering 
a hundred and seventy-five miles in ten 
marching days- He wished for a final prac- 
tice in sledding and photography, as well as 
to lay depots for the next Western party and 
to complete certain observations, especially to 
measure the movement of the stakes already 

* JWore leaving the sulyect of these subsidiary expeditions, 
we must refer Up those of J JcuictKLtu Campbell. During his 
first winter, hv was not in loich with the main party. The 
Tern* AWi, which picked Ivim up nnd transferred his party 
To a new base t did not briii^ n?ws of htm to Cap' hvans 
til] torn; a fur Captain Scoit had act out for the Po3e, while his 
second and In voluntary wintering— a marvellous feat— Uok 
place litter sti.ll. Since, therefore* his wurk w;is. not recorded 
in Scotr/s journals, it dot's not cowc within the scope or these 
articles, albeit, as Lord Curzon stated on the occasion of 
his presenting a gold watch to Lieutenant C:impt*d| on 
behalf of the Royal (ieoprapbUral Society, "a great personal 
achievement ; one of the m-jst hrillianl things ever sLcwmplished 
in the history of Air tic and Antarctic exploration," 







set in the Fcrrar Glacier. These showed 
thy advance of the ice to be about thirty 
feet in seven and a half months, confirming 
the belief in the slow movement of th* coastal 
glaciers. In New Harbour copper was dis- 
covered ; but the strangest discovery was 
that of the Glacier Tongue, a mass of ice two 
miles long, which hud broken away from near 
Cape Evans in the storm when the ponies 
were drowned. It had driven across the 
Sound, to be stranded on the opposite shore 
forty- five miles away, still bearing a depot 
of fodder and the line of stakes to guide 
the ponies across it. Strange to thinj* of 
the plan to build the hut on its seemingly 
stable bulk. What an adventurous voyage 
it would have given its inhabitants ! 

Off to the Pole ! 

The outward course from Barrier Face may 
be divided into three stages: (t) About four 
hundred and twenty-four miles over the 
Barrier. (2) About a hundred and twenty- 
five miles up the Glacier, rising eight thousand 
feet, (3) About three hundred and fifty-three 
miles along the summit plateau to the Pole, 
at a continuous altitude of between nine 
thousand and ten thousand five hundred feet. 
Adding the twenty-one miles from Cape Evans 
to Barrier Face, the total is nine hundred 
und twenty-three— the whole journey out 
and home covering one thousand eight 
hundred and forty-six miles. 

November 1st, 1911, saw the Southern 
journey begun. 

The first few entries in the diarv are chiefly 

Digitized by tiOOQIc 

concerned with the doings of the ponies. 
Some are generically termed " the crocks " ; 
others were lively and obstreperous ; some 
slow j some swift. " The little devil Christo- 
pher was harnessed with the usual difficulty, 
and started in kicking mood. Gates holding 
on for all he was worth, Bones ambled off 
gently with Oean, and I led Snippets in his 
wake. Ten minutes after Evans and Snatcher 
passed at the usual full speed,'' Indeed, 
" Snatcher soon led the party, and covered 
the distance in four hours, Rones and 
Christopher arrived almost equally fresh— in 
fact f the latter had been bucking and kicking 
the whole way ; for the present there is no 
end X& his devilment, and the great considera- 
tion is how to safeguard Oates. Some quiet 
ponies should always he near him, a difficult 
matter to arrange with such varying rates of 

Thus the first march, writes Scott, " re- 
minded me of a regatta or a somewhat dis- 
organized fleet, with shi]* «f very unequal 
speed ! ?T Next day the plan of farther 
advance was evolved. " We shall start in 
three parties — the very slow ponies, the 
medium-paced, and the fliers — Snatcher, 
starting last, will probably overtake the lead- 
ing unit. All this requires a good dea 1 of 
arranging. We have decided to begin night- 
marching, and shall get away after supper, I 
hope.' 1 

The surface of the Barrier was fatiguing to 
most of the animals — even Christopher by 
the third day was evident I v subdued by it — 
and " the ponies bate the wind." At the 




halts, shelter walls were built for them, but 
on November 3rd, for a happy exception, 
" there is no wind, and the sun gets warmer 
every minute." 

At this stage the party slept the day through 
till i p + rru, then fed* tL It is a sweltering day, 
the air breathless > the glare intense. One 
loses sight of the fact that the temperature 
is low ( - 22 ) ; one's mind seeks com- 
parison in hot sunlit streets and scorching 
pavements. Yet six hours ago my thumb 
was frost-bitten. All the inconvenience of 
frozen footwear and damp clothes and sleeping 
hags have vanished entirely." 

Lunch at midnight , however, is not pleasing, 
(t But for man the march that follows is 
pleasant when, as to-day (November 3rd), 
the wind falls and the sun steadily increases 
its heat/' 

The Motors Break Down. 

These halcyon times (or body and mind did 
not last. The motors, four or five days ahead, 
had left cheering messages on abandoned 

follow. Some four miles out we met a tin 
pathetically inscribed, * Big end Day's motor 
No. 2 cylinder broken.' Half a mile beyond, 
as I expected , we found the motor, its tracking 
sledges and all, Notes from Evans and Day 
told the tale. The only spare big end had 
been used for Lash ley 's machine, and it would 
have taken a long time to strip Day's engine 
so that it could run on three cylinders. They 
had decided to abandon it and push on with the 
other alone. They had taken the six bags of 
forage and some odds and ends, besides their 
petrol and lubricant, So the dream of great 
help from the machines is at an end ! The 
track of the remaining motor goes steadily 
forward ; hut now, of course, I shall expect 
to see it every hour of the march." 

On November 5th these forebodings were 

" There are three black dots to the South 
which we can only imagine is the deserted 
motor with its loaded sledges. The men have 
gone on as a supporting party as directed/ 1 

It was even so. Thev reached the aban- 


patrol tins. In that found on November 4th 
Day wrote, " Hope to meet in 8o° 30' (Lat.)/' 
** Poor chap," is the comment in the diary , 
14 within two miles he must have had to sing 
a different tale. It appears they had a bad 
ground on the morning of the 29th. T suppose 
the surface was bad and everything seemed 
to l>e going wrong. They * dumped ? a good 
deal of petrol and lubricant. Worse was to 

Digitized by Gc 

doned motor next day (the 6th), and found a 
note stating 4t a recurrence of the old trouble. 
The big end of No, 1 cylinder had cracked, 
the machine otherwise in good order. Evi- 
dently the engines are not fitted for working 
in this climate, a fact that should be certainly 
capable of correction. One thing is proved 
— the system of propulsion is altogether 

,v Original from 

by Google 

Original from 

ABad Lo; 


MISERABLE December after- 
noon, dark and drear, damp 
and slimv underfoot, with a 
biting east wind which set 
the teeth on edge. Over the 
grass of the green hill, facing 
the park, hung a thick white 
mist, which reflected in a ghostly fashion 
the lights of the gas-lumps that stood at 
intervals on each side of the principal gravel 

All day the place had been deserted, for 
the seats dripped with moisture, and even 
the weariest tramp hesitated to face the wind 
that seemed to revel in the wide open space, 
which in the genial spring season, with its 
soft turf, gently-cropping sheep, and gorgeous- 
flowering red and pink hawthorn and purple 
scented lilac, was a veritable garden of ease. 
And at intervals, mingling with the moaning 
and rushing of the wind, could be distinctly 
heard the hollow roar of the fretted, thwarted 
wild beasts imprisoned in the Zoological 
Gardens, separated from the hill by the 
high road only. 

An afternoon to draw* the curtains, and 
to thank God for the comfort of a cheery 
fireside and a friend to share it with. 

And a man stealing along, shrinking close 
to the park railings on the dark side of the 
high road, with his head bent, his shoulders 
hunched, and his cold, chapped hands thrust 
into the pockets of his threadbare coat, 
shuddered and winced as the icy blast blew- 
fiercely into his haggard face. 

He was young, this man, his years number- 
ing not more than twenty-six or twenty- 
seven, and would have been handsome but 
for a hunted, furtive look which had cruelly 
changed the expression of originally frank, 
rather widely set, dark grey eyes* His 
mouth, now grim and pale in hue, was fine 
in shape; and the chin, sunken in his chest , 
was big and strong, with an almost classical 

Vol. *ivL-i& 


cleft in the centre. His figure, too, was tall 
and well knit ; but his gait was that of a hunted, 
scared creature, of one who could not look 
his fellow-man in the face, and who, crushed 
by the perception of that fact, had lost all 
personal sense of dignity, 

Drawing his breath with difficulty, for he 
was weak from the effects of a serious illness 
passed in the wards of a workhouse infirmary, 
from which he had been discharged only a 
few hours previously, Francis Den ham 
shambled and shuffled along. His aching 
feet impeded his progress, and his heart 
thumped painfully as evjery now and then 
he started, and stopped in sudden alarm 
as a swaying bough of a tree cast a darker 
shadow over his path; and before he pro- 
ceeded on his weary way he glanced nervously 
and furtively over his shoulder, straining 
his ears for the sound of pursuit, and striving 
to penetrate the misty darkness with piteously- 
dilated eyes. 

His goal was a station on the North London 
line, from which he could get quickly to 
Euston. He had originally intended to walk 
the whole distance from the infirmary to 
Euston, but he now perceived clearly that 
his strength was inadequate to the strain 
of the mile and a half which still stretched 
before him, and that he could not possibly 
catch the five o'clock train, which would take 
him to his old home in Lancashire where his 
mother lived. 

His mother, whom he had not seen for 
eight long years, for whom his whole being 
yearned with a sick, hungry cravings w T bich 
he felt must be satisfied, no matter what he 
did to accomplish his purpose. 

He had indeed stopped at nothing to 
obtain the means necessary, but surely, he 
thought, he had suffered enough in the past. 
His mother, even when she knew all, would 
forgive him m\v He would tell her every- 

thin 9J fflV^f^FT 1 ?^ WI^I^N €ven ^ he did 



as a little lad. He would sob out all the 
truth, and she would surely forgive him and 
take him to her heart. 

And if she would not pardon, then at least 
he could die at home. He was tired of life, 
with no one to love or care for him, without 
even his own self-respect to hearten him for 
the fight, and his mother used to be pitiful 
to all sinners. It was his father who had 
stood between them, his grim, puritanical 
old father. 

But his father had been dead three months, 
and if, having freely confessed his sins, 
his mother pardoned, he might be able to 
believe that God also would pity and forgive. 

He had been a bad lot ; no one knew that 

better than he. Even now, two hours ago 

But of that last deed he did not repent ; 
he had been driven to it. He had to get to 
his mother, to look upon her face and to kiss 
her lips, and they had been deaf to his 
prayers, they had even sneered at him. 
He had been forced to the act, for how was 
he, scarcely able to drag himself along, to 
earn money for the journey this bitter winter 
season ? And he must see her, must read in 
her eyes that she still loved him before he 
begged from her. 

And at the first he had not been to blame. 
She would surely believe him when he told 
her face to face that before God he was inno- 
cent of that first charge. He had been 
innocent, but he had been shown no mercy. 
His friend, the man he loved and would 
have died to serve, had ruined him, and he 
had suffered in dogged, sullen silence that the 
other might go free, and his father had deemed 
him guilty. 

And as he pushed on, sighing and panting, 
dreary pictures floated in the filmy wreaths 
of the shifting mist before his weary eyes. 

He saw his mother stretching out her arms 
to him as, on his nineteenth birthday, he had 
turned his back upon his old home, his stern 
father's admonishing words ringing in his 
ears. Then there rose before his eyes the 
face of his new friend with the beguiling, 
merry eyes and the smiling, boyish mouth. 

They had been fellow-clerks in a merchant's 
office, and had lived and worked together. 
And then, two years later, had come the 
trial for theft, and the horrible, heart-numbing 
pain of a broken friendship and a shattered 

Three years of penal servitude Francis 
Denham suffered wrongfully, and when he 
came out of prison the hand of every man 
seemed against him. His father sent him 
meagre supplies, but refused to see him or to 

allow him to correspond with his mother, 
and he had sunk to the depths. Several 
other short terms he had served for petty 
thefts, and on his release, three months before, 
he had been found fainting on a seat in one 
of the public parks, and had been conveyed 
raving in delirium to the nearest workhouse 

Many weeks he lay there utterly helpless, 
and then at last his physical strength gradually 
returned ; but he was still sullen and dogged. 
His heart seemed to have <Jted when his 
friend betrayed him, and his pleading letter to 
his mother had been returned to him torn up. 

But when he had lain in the infirmary nine 
weeks there had come a few almost illegible 
words from her. From the time he had been 
taken to the hospital she had had no know- 
ledge of his whereabouts, but indirectly she 
had now heard how to communicate with 
him, and in a few broken phrases she told him 
of his father's death and of her own terribly 
impoverished condition, which would neces- 
sitate her leaving the old home at Christmas. 

Then suddenly his brain had seemed to 
recover its balance, and his heart had 
awakened to a positive agony of craving for 
a sight of his mother's face and the sound of 
her voice. 

His recovery was now speedy, for he 
forced himself to eat and to exercise his 
enfeebled muscles, and at length came the 
December day when, still miserably weak, 
but with a determined purpose in his mind, 
he had said good bye to the nurses and his 
companions in the infirmary ward, and had 
betaken himself to the office of the secretary 
of the institution. 

The stone passages were cold, and Francis 
Denham, accustomed for so long to the warm 
wards, shivered with the chill and a sense of 
acute nervousness. The office door was open, 
and while he hesitated, endeavouring to screw 
up his courage to enter, the sound of his own 
name came to him from within the room. 

"So we get shot of Francis Denham at 
last," the secretary remarked. 

" Yes, thank Heaven," the medical officer 
replied. " His has been a tough, thankless 
case. I really began to think I should have 
to put him among the ' lunies ' ; but I fancy 
now it's the temper that's been to blame, not 
the brain, for a more ungracious, ill-con- 
ditioned patient I've seldom come across." 

" Ah, jail-bird," the other said, grimly ; 
" they are generally thankless brutes." 

11 Good Lord, is that so ? What a pity ! 
Such a handsome chap, too." 

" Yes. When he first came in his good 









looks and his superior education attracted me, 
and I did my best to buck him up ; but I 
couldn't get at him at all, and from what I've 
heard since I've been forced to the conclusion 
that he's a bad lot, a downright bad lot. 
Has been in and out of prison, it seems, for 
the last six years." 

" Great Scot ! How horrid ! " 

Shrinking back from the door, Denham 
eant up against the wall and wiped the 
moisture from his face, as the young doctor 
emerged from the office. His aspect was 
very pitiable, and the other experienced a 
pang of compunction. 

"Halloa, Denham!" he cried; "you just 

" Yes." 

" Well, I wish you'd got a more decent day 
to start out in. You'll have to take care for 
a bit ; one doesn't get over such a sharp bout 
as yours at once, you know. Well, good-bye 
to you, and good luck ! " 

He held out his strong, capable hand, and 
when he saw the tears of weakness which 
rose in the other's eyes, and felt the clammy 
touch of his thin fingers, his heart smote him 

" Good luck, old fellow ! " he repeated, 
shaking the limp hand heartily; "it's a long 
lane that has no turning, you know. Good 
luck to you ! " 

The doctor hurried away, and Francis 
Denham, a little strengthened by the un- 
familiar comfort of human sympathy, had 
walked into the office. 

He was badly received ; the secretary had 
a pile of money before him on the desk, and 
was evidently immersed in worrying calcula- 
tions, and when Denham faltered out his 
piteous request for a small loan to enable 
him to reach his mother, he was harshly 

But the sight of the gold had excited 
Denham, and had created in him a violent 
sense of cruel injustice. Among that heap of 
glittering coins what could one more or less 
signify to that callous, contemptuous Jack- 
in-office ? And his own need was so terribly 
great. One of those sovereigns would take 
him to his mother, to the old home that in a 
fortnight more would be cold and desolate ; 
he must and would have it. 

Urgently he argued and pleaded, but the 
other man would not help him, and at last, 
irritated almost beyond bearing at Denham's 
persistence, the secretary walked to the office 
door and impatiently flung it open, 

"Come, be off, Denham!" he said. "I 
can't waste any more time with you; I'm 

up to the ears in bothering business, and you 
are really not the sort of man one feels called 
upon to help. This sudden sense of filial 
affection has come on a little late in the day. 
And as to wanting a pound to get to your 
mother, I expect that's all bunkum; probably 
she lives near Whitechapel or Bermondsey." 

" She does not ; she " 

" Ah, well, I really don't want to know her 
whereabouts," the other interrupted, angrily ; 
" my one object now is to get rid of you, and 
if half a crown will be of any service " 

" It would be of no use at all," Francis 
Denham had muttered, hoarsely, and then, 
without another word, he had gone hastily 
from the office, and stumbled quickly out 
of the great red brick building, into the dark, 
cold winter day. And in his left hand, 
clenched tightly, were a couple of the golden 
coins which had lain upon the secretary's 

For his journey he would need but one, 
but his mother might be in actual want 
that bleak, miserable day, and he would not 
go to be a positive burden upon her. 

On and on he plodded along what seemed 
the interminable road ; then he stopped 
for a moment and, resting against the park 
railings, passed his hand over his damp 
brow, and as he did so a neighbouring church 
clock struck the hour of five. At five-fifty 
his train to the North would start, and he was 
now within ten minutes of the local station 
that would take him in five minutes more 
straight to Euston. 

His head was dizzy with fatigue and weak- 
ness, for his suppressed excitement had pre- 
vented his eating the midday meal at the 
infirmary, and his nervous trepidation had 
been too great to allow him to enter any 
provision shop during his long tramp. He 
had determined he would get food at the busy 
station, and eat it in the train when he was 
safely started. But he regretted his caution 
now, for it seemed to him as he leant panting 
against the park railing, and listened to the 
dreary noises of the adjacent animals, that 
he had suddenly come to the end of his powers 
of endurance. He had already tramped five 
miles, and on his feet there seemed to hang 
leaden weights. 

With a shiver he rubbed his smarting eyes, 
and then through the mist he saw dimly 
the opening to the green hill, and the lights 
in the lodge windows by the side of it. For 
a while he and his false friend had lodged in 
this neighbourhood, and he was thoroughly 
familiar with the locality. 

" I will cut across the hill," he muttered. 
U N I V trOl I T r 




" It will save me a minute or two. Besides, 
I shall be safer there such a day as this 
than on the high road, and I have time to 
rest for a minute or two. I must do that, 
whatever comes of it. I feel as if I could 
scarcely lift my feet." 

But before he moved he sighed heavily, 
and again passed his hand over his frowning 

" My brain is all in a muddle/' he went on, 
under his breath. " I can't remember whether 
I told that brute where mother lives. I don't 
think so, but I can't remember. If I did, 
there may be detectives at Euston already, 
and my face is pretty well known to the 

With a halting, dragging step he crossed 
the road and passed stealthily and softly 
through the entrance on to the hill, and then 
with a sickening sense of dread he stopped 
again. The mist was very thick where he 
stood, but it was less dense in places, and 
close to the side of the lodge he could dimly 
discern the figures of two men, and as he 
paused in sudden terror their words came to 
him distinctly. 

" Didn't you hear something then, Bill ? " 

" I thought I did," was the hoarse reply, 
" but that blessed motor on the road con- 
fused me." 

" The chaps are at the other gate, too, 
aren't they ? " 

" Yes, we are pretty near certain of catch- 
ing him. He's almost bound to try to get 
out of one of these lower gates." 

" But isn't there anyone at the gate over 
the hill, then ? " 

" Yes, there's a bobby on point there. 
They can't spare any more of us, but we ought 
to be two and two for this job. He's a pretty 
tough customer to tackle. Hush ! I thought 
I heard something then. If we struck across 
the grass where there are no lights we should 
miss him to a certainty. If only this infernal 
fog would lift ! " 

With beating heart and grimly-set teeth, 
stealing softly to the side of the gravel path, 
Francis Denham stepped over the low rail 
which separated it from the green sward, 
and moved noiselessly over the reeking turf. 
He knew the gate he must make for. With 
his eyes shut he could have found it. Only 
one man guarded that, it seemed, and in 
the darkness he might slip past him ; but the 
steep slope of the high hill tried his enfeebled 
physical powers terribly, and presently he 
halted by the side of an old-fashioned wooden 

With a weary moan he sank down upon it, 

and as he did so one of the rain-sodden rails 
moved under him. Rising with some diffi- 
culty, he peered closely at the wooden bench. 
One of the thick laths was broken m the 
middle. With a wrench he pulled it away, 
and panting with the slight exertion, 
reseated himself, and extracted the one 
or two rusty long nails which still adhered 
to it. 

Then, placing the rough, heavy bit of wood 
across his knees, he drew his coat closer round 
him and leant back to rest, but there was 
a gleam in the eyes which now stared into 
the white mist, and a tense grimness in the 
set mouth which had not been there before. 

Francis Denham was no longer entirely 
helpless, since he was now provided with 
a formidable weapon. He did not wish to use 
it or to injure any man, but this time he would 
fight for his liberty, and if he lost his life in 
the struggle — well, perhaps so much the better. 
Imprisonment he felt he could not and would 
not face again. 

His reasoning faculties were still befogged 
and out of gear, but so far as this he realized 
his position entirely. He was resolved 
to fight to the death for freedom, and for 
the opportunity to look upon his mother 
once again. 

How these men had traced him already 
he did not attempt to unravel. He knew 
it had taken him over two hours to walk 
the five miles, and that probably his theft 
had been discovered almost immediately, 
but why they should have made up their 
minds that he would attempt to cross the hill 
he could not imagine, though it was almost 
certain to him now that he must have indirectly 
put Euston Station into their minds as his 
goal ; and had he not been twitted and teased 
with talking in his sleep by the night atten- 
dants at the infirmary ? Yes ; that must be 
the explanation, he decided at length ; he had 
many a time dreamed of that green hill, and 
of the friend with whom he had walked there 
in loving companionship, and had waked with 
the tears running down his face. And when 
they had laughed at him he had scowled at 
them and hated them. 

For several minutes Francis Denham sat 
there immersed in painful thought, every now 
and then falling into an exhausted doze ; but 
presently the church clock chimed the first 
quarter, and, still clutching the piece of wood, 
he pulled himself to his feet. He must push 
on now ; he might have to wait some minutes 
for the train to Euston. But when he gained 
the top of the hill ht was forced to pause once 


I 5 2 








On the higher ground the wind had caused 
the mist to disperse, and he could see plainly 
the shapes of the bushes and the* trees in the 
railed-in garden which crowned the summit 
of the ascent ; from every twig and branch 
moisture dropped heavily and glistened in the 
light of the big incandescent gas-lamp which 
stood in the centre of the small, level plateau, 
and so dense was the silence of the deserted 
spot that for a long minute he could even hear 
the rain-drops falling on the ground beneath. 

But all at once from the high road came the 
distant rush and roar of heavy motor traffic, 
and then there fell on his ears another sound, 
and as it rose upon the air a chilling sense of 
actual terror froze the blood in Francis 
Denham's veins. 

For the last half-hour he had heard at 
intervals the muffled cries of the caged wild 
beasts ; but this snarling, hideous growl was 
near at hand, and rang out like a death-knell. 

For a moment the trembling man stood 
motionless, paralyzed with a ghastly, nerve- 
shattering fear. There came a tearing and a 
rending of the bushes, and then a great, 
grizzly form leapt the rails and, with another 
rumbling growl and a hissing snarl, came to a 
stand immediately in front of Denham. 

In the pale gleam of the gas the creature 
was distinctly revealed to the horrified man, 
and at the terrible sight his labouring heart 
seemed to stop for an instant, and then to 
thump in his breast with almost suffocating 

It was a huge, shaggy grey wolf with 
bristling spine which stood there in his path ; 
the jaws were distended and the lips drawn 
back, disclosing the awful fangs, and in the 
lurid eyes, gleaming like coals of fire, there 
shone the fierce, wild light of maddened 

For a long minute the hunted man and the 
hunted brute stood quivering in every 
muscle, glaring into each other's distended 
eyes, and then there flashed into Denham's 
mind an explanation of those two lurking 
figures at the lodge gates. They were 
keepers from the Zoological Gardens, and 
they were tracking, not him, but the ominous, 
terrible beast in front of him. 

And at the thought the crushing, paralyzing 
weight which had lain upon his spirits 
suddenly lifted ; his courage, which had been 
dormant for many years, returned to him, and 
the hot blood rushed with revivifying force 
through his veins, strengthening his weak 
arm and nerve for the terrible encounter he 
saw to be inevitable. 

Planting himself firmly on his feet, Francis 

Denham grasped his heavy wooden lath with 
an iron grip, and on the almost imperceptible 
movement of the man the creature dropped 
his red staring eyes, and with an undulating 
motion of the upstanding ridge of coarse hair 
on his back, and another hissing snarl, sprang 
direct at Denham's throat. 

But Denham in his boyhood had been the 
best boxer of his school, and was also the 
champion in the single-stick competitions, 
which old-fashioned sport still survived in the 
northern county of his birth ; and now the 
blow he dealt was straight and sure, and even 
as the great beast sprang the crack of the wood 
rang out sharply on the grey, rough head. 

With a discordant howl of baffled anguish, 
panting grievously, the half-stunned, starved 
creature fell back heavily, and after crouching 
and cowering for a moment at the man's feet, 
with a feeble moan, its lowered bushy tail 
dragging along the muddy ground, crept under 
one of the seats near. 

And Denham, with his blood tingling in his 
veins and his spirits elated with the triumph 
of a victory over a formidable foe, waited an 
instant to recover his breath and to rub his 
hand, which smarted with the force of the 
vigorous blow he had delivered, and then 
with a little laugh of boyish satisfaction — 
certainly the first laugh which had issued from 
his lips for many a year — pursued his way 
down the hill-side almost briskly. 

In his newly-restored courage he was now 
even inclined to make light of the nervous 
fears which before had almost crushed him. 
It was quite possible, he reflected, that his 
theft might not have been discovered even 
yet. The secretary was obviously in a 
ruffled, worried condition, probably over his 
cash accounts — in that case he would be some 
time arriving at a conclusion. Yes, and that 
would account also for his impatience and 
incivility ; hitherto, Denham acknowledged, 
the secretary had treated him very decently. 
That circumstance, of course, would heighten 
the blackness of his offence, and now for the 
first time the man experienced a twinge of 
compunction for the theft. 

" I will repay it," he muttered. " I swear 
before God that I will work my fingers to the 
bone to repay it." And then again his 
spirits rose. He would be at Euston within 
a quarter of an hour, in time to get a sub- 
stantial meal before the train for the North 
started, and he was now consc'.ous of an 
almost raging hunger. 

" I remember how I used to eat after those 
single-stick boutsi'i he. muttered, and then 

a sn,il !V&ff mMmk face - " Md 



what a supper mother used to give me, and 
how poor old dad used to grumble at her 
for spoiling me 1 I never delivered a straighter 
blow than that. Well, I was up against it 
then. It was once for all. Poor hunted, 
starving beast," he continued, " it was a bit 
hard on him, though. I hope they'll catch 
him soon and give him a good feed when they 
do. After all, he was only playing the game. 
Heaven knows, I don't blame him for fighting 
for freedom and life." 

Swinging the piece of wood almost jauntily 
in his hand, for involuntarily he had retained 
his hold on it, Fflpficis Denham was within 
a couple of hundred yards of his point of 
egress on to the road, which adjoined the local 
station, when another and most unexpected 
sound attracted his attention. 

During his progress over the hill he had 
not encountered a single human being. A 
light rain was falling, and here the mist hung 
heavily, but the sound which struck upon 
his ear was the voice of a woman, evidently 
speaking to a young child. The voice was 
low and very sweet, and to the lonely man, 
peering through the misty vapour, it seemed 
actually beautiful after the storm and stress 
of the terrible day. 

In a minute the child also spoke, in a 
feeble treble which conveyed no meaning to 
him, but every word of the unseen woman's 
reply fell like music on his straining senses. 

" There's nothing to be afraid of, Bessie. 
Mammy has her darling safe in her arms. 
The fairies wove that gauzy mist ; they are 
dancing on the grass under it. But they 
don't like us big people to see them ; they 
are afraid we might want to pick them up 
and carry them off." 

She halted a moment. She was evidently 
carrying the child, and the rising ground 
made the burden a heavy one. Again there 
came the faint, childish voice, and the quick, 
rather breathless reply : — 

" I'm not tired, Bessie. Mammy's darling 
never tires her, and soon you'll be able to run 
by my side up all the big hills. The poor leg 
is growing stronger every day, and we shall 
be home very soon now. Just up to the top 
where the seats and the big lamp are, and down 
the other side, and then we shall be at home ; 
and, oh ! won't Bessie and mother enjoy 
their tea, after mother has boiled the kettle ? " 

Still standing motionless, with a smile upon 
his face, Francis Denham heard the crunch of 
the soddened gravel beneath her labouring 
footsteps, but almost immediately she 
stopped again. It seemed as if the weight 
she carried prevented her speaking and 

progressing at the same time, and her tone 
was now very weary as she tried to reassure 
the frightened child. 

" There will be the gas-lamps all the way, 
Bessie," she said, soothingly. " Besides, who 
would hurt a poor woman whose only treasure 
in the world is her little daughter ? Put 
your arms tighter round my neck, my darling, 
and lift yourself a little, then we'll go on 
bravely, but we mustn't talk, because that 
hinders mother. Come, that's right. Why, 
you're no weight at all now." 

With an almost tender light in his eyes, 
Denham heard her pursue her way, and then 
again the church clock struck. 

" Half-past five ! " he cried. " Great Scot ! 
I've no time to lose." 

Flinging down the piece of heavy wood, 
he turned quickly in the direction of the 
opening on to the road, but before he had 
taken two steps a ghastly change came over 
his excited, hopeful countenance. 

"Oh, my God!" he groaned, and then, 
for the moment utterly overwhelmed, he 
reeled up against the lamp-post under which 
he stood. 

The silence was unbroken save for the 
faint sound of the woman's slow, retreating 
footsteps, but in his ears there seemed to 
ring that ominous hissing snarl, and before 
his agonized mind there rose the hideous 
spectacle of the maddened, hunted beast with 
the lurid eyes and the distended, ravening 
mouth. On the top of the hill it crouched, 
waiting for its prey, and over the top of the 
hill lay the path of the exhausted mother and 
the crippled child. 

For only a moment Francis Denham 
hesitated, but in that cruel, desolating 
moment he saw the overthrow of all his 
cherished plans. The train must go without 
him, and before the next one, three hours 
later, what might not happen to a man 
with possibly the police already on his 
track ? 

With a choking sob he clenched his hands, 
and tears of pity for himself welled up into 
his eyes ; then, stooping^ he snatched up the 
piece of wood and, bracing himself, rushed 
up the path in pursuit of the woman, whose 
footsteps he could still hear faintly. 

He dared not call out to stop her, for by 
chance the half-stunned beast might be sleep- 
ing, and in that case might not hear the 
soft, slow footfall, but when he was within 
fifty yards of the summit a hideous outcry 
froze the blood in his veins. 

A woman's shrill shriek of despair mingled 
with the growling, horrible snarl. 



By a supreme effort, with the ground rock- 
ing under his feet, the exhausted man rushed 
forward — only just in time, for the beast 
had sprung and had thrown the woman and 
child to the ground when Francis Denham 
delivered his second frenzied, crushing blow, 
and then with a gasp sank senseless by the 
side of the two he had preserved from a 
terrible death. 

When Denham regained consciousness, on 
the little plateau stood a dozen men. Four 
of them with heavy chains controlled the 
sluggish movements of the wolf, who moaned 
drearily, and whose shaggy head was clotted 
with blood, while on a seat near was the 
half - fainting woman w'th the terrified 

His own head was raised against the knee 
of a man who held a flask of brandy to his 
lips, but the first words he heard were these : — 

" Poor chap, he's coming to, but he'll have 
to go along with me, worse luck. We had a 
'phone to be on the look-out for him half an 
hour ago. He's well known to the police. 
A bad lot, I dare say, but a brave one for all 
that ! It wanted a man to tackle a beast 
like that with nothing but a bit of wood ; 
and this chap only left the infirmary three 
hours ago. A mighty thwack it must have 
been to crack that brute's skull." 

Again Francis Denham was tried and 
sentenced, but this time the judge took a 
lenient view of his crime for the sake of the 
brave deed which followed it ; indeed, there 
were tears in his eyes as he addressed the 
criminal, for he had been deeply touched by 
\he woman's piteous pleading for the man 
t/ho had saved her and her child from an 
ewful fate. 

Eighteen months' imprisonment with hard 
labour was the judge's lenient sentence to the 
hardened offender, who listened to it and to 
the emotional words which accompanied it 
with a callous indifference that shocked 

It was a glorious afternoon in early July 
when Francis Denham once more stood a free 
man outside the gates of the prison at Worm- 
wood Scrubs. The scent of the country came 
to him from the open expanse of green fields, 
and in the distance he could hear the twitter 
and the song of birds ; the sky was blue 
above, and into his worn, miserable face there 
blew a refreshing breeze, but in his heart 
was a sense of utter loneliness and black 

His mother had died six months before, 

Vol. xlvl-2a 

and now he was a free man without a friend in 
the whole wide world. What was the use of 
life to him ? he thought. None. Well, the 
night would soon be here, and the canal not 
far distant. 

And then there came a soft touch upon his 
arm, and turning quickly he saw by his side 
a decently-clad, careworn, but sweet-faced 
young woman. In great surprise he stood 
looking down at her, for she now grasped his 
arm tightly, as she raised her glowing eyes to 

" I have been waiting an hour," she said, 
" and the time has seemed so long." 

He caught his breath sharply ; he recognized 
the sweet, soft voice. 

"Waiting?" he repeated, with a strange 
fluttering at his cold, torpid heart. " Waiting, 
why ? " 

" For you, of course. I knew you were to 
come out this afternoon. And tea will be 
ready, and little Bessie is watching for us." 

" For us ? " he repeated again. 

" Yes, for her mammy and for our friend. 
Oh, Francis Denham, do you think I've 
forgotten ? I've been waiting for our dear 
friend, our brave, brave defender ! " 

" But your husband," Denham faltered, 
" he would not " 

" My husband died nearly four years ago," 
the woman replied ; " there will be no one 
there but Bessie and me. Come, be of good 
heart ; the cruel, black days are over. I 
have found work for you." 

With a stifled cry Denham clutched at the 
hand that still grasped his arm. 

" Work for me ? " he gasped ; " honest 
work ? " 

" Yes, for you," she answered, in ringing 
tones. " At the office where I am employed 
my master thinks of you as I do. And why 
not ? God knows you are a good, brave 

Clasping his hands together and wringing 
them hard, Denham looked up into the blue 
dome of heaven. 

" Thank God," he murmured, solemnly, 
" for this fresh chance ! " 

And then, turning to his companion, he took 
her outstretched hand in his. 

" I will come with you," he said, simply ; 
" oh, my friend, I will be true to your belief 
in me. You have saved my soul by your 
faith and charity." 

" I am only trying to pay my debt," she 
answered, with a sob. " Now come." 

And as they walked away together, the 
sun shone upon the p&th before them, 


io Libertu 





HE house was set in a cleft 
of the pine -covered hills, 
fashioned of mouldering white 
stone painted pink, struggling 
against its inborn ugliness 
and succeeding only because of 
the beauty of its setting — the 
orchard, pink and white with masses of cherry- 
blossom, in the background, the brown earth 
with its neatly-trained vines. Felice's window 
faced east, and as usual, when the sun came 
from behind the hill and lay across the faded 
carpet of her room, she rose with a yawn, sat 
up in bed for a moment or two, slipped softly 
out, and stood before the window. 

It was always the same, what followed. 
She stood and looked for a while at that 
towering wall of stony, pine-hung mountain, 
at the blue-smocked men and women crouch- 
ing in the vineyard, at the white church upon 
the hill, the orchard touched with snow, and 
the corner of a field of violets, bending a little 
with the morning breeze, And then she 
sighed. It was always the same. 

Felice bathed and dressed, daintily and 
carefully, herself like .some exquisite pink 
and white flower slowly opening her petals. 
She left her room — as bare almost it was as a 
nun's cell — spotlessly neat, with the breeze 
sweeping in through the wide-flung window, 
a breeze which brought a perfume of mimosa 
to mingle with the fainter odour of lavender 
which hung about the linen and the plain 
white muslin curtains of the little chamber. 

She took her morning coffee, served by an 
apple-cheeked, sour-faced domestic, in a 
corner of the wooden balcony which had been 
built out from the one habitable living-room. 

The petals from a climbing rose-tree fell upon 
the coarse but spotless cloth, bees hummed 
around the drooping jasmine, the soft sun- 
shine every moment grew warmer. Felice 
finished her breakfast, yawned, and dreamed 
for a time with her eyes lifted to the hills. 
Then she rose, shook out her neat white skirt, 
fetched a pink parasol, wandered for a little 
time in the garden and orchard, and then, 
turning her face southwards, went out to 
meet the adventure of her life. 

She walked down the straight, cypress- 
bordered path — a mere cart-track across the 
brown-soiled vineyard — down a narrow lane 
until she reached the one spot which she 
never neared without some quickening of the 
blood. For Felice was nineteen years old, and 
beautiful, though no one but the glass had ever 
told her so. And this was the road to liberty, 
the main road to Toulon and Marseilles on 
one side, to Cannes and Monte Carlo on 
the other. She had told herself repeatedly 
that if ever freedom came to her it would 
come along this road. And because her worn- 
out invalid father had been a little more 
peevish and trying than ever on the night 
before, and because of other things, freedom 
seemed to her just now so specially desirable. 

Her adventure came to her in a cloud of 
dust — a long, grey motor-car, with luggage 
strapped on behind, and two men. Unrecog- 
nizable though they were, she caught the 
flash of their curious eyes as they passed. 
Then she stepped back with a little gesture 
of dismay. A cloud of dust enveloped her. 
She bent her pink sunshade to protect her- 
self ; she was disposed to be a little irritable. 
Then her heart suddenly commenced to beat 




fast She had heard the grinding of brakes, 
quick footsteps were approaching along the 
road. Was this, perhaps, the adventure at 
last ? 

" Mademoiselle ! " 

She moved the parasol from before her 
face. She had self-control, and there was 

inform a traveller whether this is indeed the 
road to Cannes ? " 

Felice answered him with perfect gravity — 
in excellent English. 

" There is but one road, monsieur, as you 
see, and it leads, without doubt, to Cannes," 
she told him. 



nothing in her gravely-Inquiring eyes— 
beautiful r soft brown eyes they were — 
to indicate the turmoil within. Her first 
instinct was one of reassurance. It was a 
boy who addressed her, a boy of little more 
than her own age, bare-headed, not altogether 
at his ease. He spoke in halting French* 
" Would mademoiselle be so good as to 

The boy remained embarrassed, but he was 
very resolute. 

" We thought it might be the right road," 
he admitted ; " but, to tell you the truth, 
you looked so awfully jolly and all that sort 
of thing, you know, 1 couldn't help stopping. 
Don't be angry, plon^i," he begged. 

^IHtafEFSlTHF MO*.fl° mentaril y- 



he stooped anxiously to see if indeed it were 
to hide a smile. She said nothing. 

" You speak English awfully well," he con- 
tinued, " but you are French, aren't you ? " 

" I am French," she assented. " I have 
just returned from what you call a boarding- 
school in Brussels. We always spoke English 

" And now ? " 

She motioned with her parasol. 

" I live in the valley there," she told him. 
" It is — a little dull. That is why, I suppose, 
I permit myself to talk with you. My father 
is an invalid, who rises only for two hours a 
day, and there is no one else. But your 
automobile returns. You know the way to 
Cannes, and you must go." 

The car had slipped slowly back in the 
reverse until it had stopped almost by their 
side. An older man was leaning back 
amongst the cushions, a man whose hair was 
turning grey at the temples and whose eyes 
were tired. He looked out upon the two with 
a faintly sardonic smile. The girl returned 
his gaze with frank curiosity, and his expres- 
sion gradually changed. For all his cynicism, 
Maurice Londe had a soul for beauty. The 
girl, with her neatly-braided hair, her ex- 
quisitely undeveloped figure, her clear com- 
plexion, her large, soft eyes, her general air 
of sweet aijd spotless childhood, was immensely 
and irresistibly attractive. 

" This is my friend — Londe," the bey said, 
with a wave of the hand. " My name's 
Arthur Maddison. I say, couldn't we per- 
suade you to come just a little way with us ? 
You don't seem to have much to do with 
yourself, and we'll bring you safely back." 

Felice looked longingly along the road. 
She pointed to where it disappeared in the 
distance around a vineyard-covered hillside. 
To her that disappearance was allegorical. 

" Farther than that," she sighed, " I have 
never been." 

" Come with us to Cannes for lunch," the 
boy begged. " We'll bring you back. Do ! 
It's only an hour's run." 

She looked wistfully at the cushioned seats. 
The boy was already taking off his motor- 

" But — I have no hat," she protested. 

" We'll buy you one," he laughed. 

" I have no money ! " 

" It shall be our joint present," he persisted, 
holding out the coat. " Come. VVe'll take 
great care of you, and we'll have a splendid 
time. You shall hang the hat in your ward- 
robe to remind you of this little excursion." 

She sat between them and the car started. 

To her it was like an enchanted journey. 
When they began to climb she held her 
breath with the wonder of it — the road wind- 
ing its way to dizzy heights above ; the 
vineyards like patchwork in the valley below ; 
the mountains in the background, gigantic, 
snow-capped ; Cannes, white and glistening 
with its mimosa-embosomed villas, in the 
far distance. 

" Oh, but it is wonderful to travel like 
this ! " she murmured. " What beautiful 
places you must see ! . . . If you please ! " 

She withdrew her fingers quickly from 
beneath the rug. She seemed scarcely to 
notice the boy's clumsy attempts at flirta- 
tion. The light of worship was in her eyes 
as she looked towards the mountains. The 
boy felt the presence of something which he 
did not understand, and he began to sulk. 
Maurice Londe frowned slightly, and for the 
first time made some efforts at polite con- 
versation. And so they reached Cannes. 

They bought the hat, for which she let the 
boy pay, although the fact obviously dis- 
composed her. She carefully chose the least 
expensive, although one of the prettiest in 
the shop. At the Casino the boy, whose 
further efforts at primitive flirtation had 
been gravely, almost wonderingly, repulsed, 
began to tire a little of his adventure. He 
spent much of his time paying visits to 
neighbouring tables, and made the acquaint- 
ance of a dazzling young person in yellow, 
from Paris, who kept him a good deal by her 
side. It was Maurice Londe, after all, who 
had to entertain their little guest. 

Afterwards, when they had walked outside 
for some time upon the little quay and the 
boy failed to rejoin them, Londe made some 
sort of apologies for his companion, to which 
she listened with a little shrug of the 

" So long as it does not weary you, mon- 
sieur," she said, softly, " I am content. I 
think that Mr. Arthur Maddison is rather a 
spoilt boy, is it not so ? " 

" Perhaps," his older friend admitted. 

" Tell me some more, please, about the 
countries you have visited," she begged. 
" But one moment. Let us watch the people 
land from this little steamer." 

" Trippers," Londe murmured, with a 
glance towards them. " An excursion from 
somewhere, I should think." 

She clutched at his arm. A short, fat man, 
with bristling black hair and moustache, 
descended suddenly upon them. He ad- 
dressed Felice with an avalanche of questions. 

Lond 8l#felTf dmc^M- When she 




rejoined him she was very pale, and there was 
something in her frightened eyes which 
touched him strangely. 

''It is Monsieur Arleman," she faltered, 
" He is a rentier — a friend of my father's, 
It is he whom my father wishes me to 

Londe T a tired man of the world, thirty- 
eight years old, was suddenly conscious of 
a feeling of unexpected anger. 

" Impossible ! " he exclaimed. " Why, the 
little beast must be sixty at least/' 

She clung to his arm. He could feel the 
trembling of her fingers through his coat- 

" It is of him that I am afraid/' she half 
whispered, half sobbed. " Oh, I am so afraid ! 
Sometimes the thought — drives me mad. 1 
cry to myself, I wring my hands. I felt like 
that this morning. That is what drove me 
down to the road. That is why I came when 
your friend asked me + That is why I would 
do anything "r the world never to go back — 





Londe drew a little breath. Her words 
seemed to ring in the sunlit air. 

" But the thing is preposterous ! " he 
exclaimed, indignantly. 

" We are very, very poor," she continued, 
under her breath, " and Monsieur Arleman is 
rich. He has an hotel and much land. He 
has promised my father an annuity, and my 
father says that one must live." 

Once more they drew close to the front of 
the Casino. In the distance they saw the boy 
with the young lady in yellow, on their way 
towards the shops. He was bending over her, 
and his air of devotion was unmistakable. 

" He has forgotten all about me," Felice 
sighed. " I hope — there won't be any trouble, 
will there, about my getting back ? Not 
that I mind much, after all." 

She looked at Londe a little timidly. It 
seemed to him that he had grown younger, 
had passed somehow into a different world, 
with different standpoints, a different code. 
The things which had half automatically 
presented themselves to his brain were 
strangled before they were fully conceived. 

" There shall be no trouble at all," he 
assured her. " I shall take you back myself 
now. Perhaps it is better." 

They got into the waiting car and Londe 
gave the man his orders. Soon they were 
rushing back once more towards the hills, on 
the other side of which was her home. 

" You are very silent," she murmured 

He turned towards her. 

" I was thinking about you," he replied ; 
" you and your little pink and white house 
amongst the hills, and your father, and 
Monsieur Arleman. It is a queer little 
chapter of life, you know." 

" To you," she sighed, " it must seem so 
very, very trivial. And yet, when I wake in 
the mornings and the thought comes to me 
of Monsieur Arleman, then life seems sud- 
denly big and awful. I feel as though I must 
go all round, stretching out my hands, seek- 
ing some place in which to hide. I feel," 
she added, as her fingers sought his half 
fearfully and her voice dropped almost to a 
whisper/' that there isn't any way of escape 
in the whole world which I would not take." 

Londe made no response. The appeal of 
her lowered voice, her wonderful eyes, seemed 
in vain. He was an adventurer, a hardened 
man of the world, whose life, when men spoke 
of it, they called evil ; but his weak spot was 
discovered. He sat and thought steadily 
for the girl's sake, and at the end of it all he 
saw nothing. 

" Perhaps," he suggested, " this Monsieur 
Arleman is not so bad when one knows him. 
If one is kind and generous " 

She looked at him reproachfully. 

" Monsieur," she replied, " he is bourgeois, 
he drinks, he is old. His presence disgusts me." 

Once more Londe was silent. The sheer 
futility of words oppressed him. They were 
climbing the hills now. The patchwork land 
was unwinding itself below. Only a few 
more turns, and they would be within sight 
of her home. Then, because he was a man 
who throughout his life had had his own way, 
and because there were limits to his endurance, 
he changed, for a moment, his tone. 

" Little girl," he said, " if I were free I 
think that I should take you away, just as 
you are, in this car, on and on to some place 
at the end of the road. Would you rather 
have me for a husband than Monsieur 
Arleman ? " 

She said nothing, but she had begun to 
tremble. He felt the instinctive swaying of 
her body towards him. He laid his hand 
upon hers. 

" It was wrong of me to ask you the 
question," he continued, " because, you see, 
I am not free. I have not seen my wife for 
years. I am not a reputable person. If you 
met with those who understood, they would 
pity that boy for his companion, and they 
would be right. They would tremble for you, 
and they would be right. So, Mile. F61ice, 
I cannot help you." 

" You have helped me, and you will help 
me always," she whispered, her eyes filled 
with tears. " You will help me with what 
you have said — with the memory of to-day." 

Then again there was silence. They were 
at the top of the hill now, and below them the 
sun-bathed landscape stretched like a carpet 
of many colours to the foot of those other 
hills. Her fingers tightened a little upon his. 

" When you asked me that question — when 
you said that you would have married me 
yourself," she continued, hesitatingly, " does 
that mean that you could care just a little ? " 

Londe was only human. He leaned over, 
and she stole very quietly into his arms. She 
lay there for a moment quite passive. Then 
he kissed her lips once. 

" I always prayed," she whispered, as he 
set her down at the corner of the lane, " that 
love might come like this." 

Londe and his youthful companion went 
on to Monte Carlo, where for a week or so 
they had the usual reckless time. Then 
suddenly the former pulled up. He strode 



into the boy's sitting-room one morning, to 
find him red-eyed and weary, looking dis- 
tastefully at his breakfast. 

" Look, young fellow/' he said, " I have had 
enough. So have you. Do you under- 
stand ? I am going to take you back to 

The boy stared at him. 

" Are you mad*? " he asked. " What's the 
use of going back to England in March, just 
when we are getting into the swing of things 
here, too ? " 

" The good of it for you is that you'll get 
back to your work/' Londe answered, curtly. 
" How do you suppose you're going to pass 
your exams, if you waste your time like this ? 
What do you suppose you're going to do 
with your life if you commence at twenty 
years old to live the life of a profligate ? " 

Arthur Maddison set down the cup of coffee 
which he had been trying to drink and gazed 
at the speaker blankly. 

" Well, I'm hanged ! " he exclaimed. 
" What's come to you, Londe ? Why, it 
was you who first of all suggested coming out 
here ! " 

" And I was a fool to do it/' Londe retorted, 
coldly. " They were right, all of them, when 
they advised you not to come with me — right 
when they called me an adventurer. I don't 
get much out of it. I have lived free and done 
you for a few hundreds. I've had enough of it. 
It's a disgusting life, anyway. Back we go 
to England to-day." 

" You're mad ! " the boy declared. " I am 
not going. I've got a dinner-party to-night." 

"We go to-day/' Londe repeated, firmly, 
" and don't you forget it." 

" Do you think you're going to bully me ? " 
the boy began. 

" I don't know what you call bullying," 
Londe replied, " but I shall wring your neck 
if you don't come. Your man has begun to 
pack already. I've got seats on the Luxe for 
three o'clock, and I've wired your mother." 

The boy collapsed. 

Londe left him at his mother's house in 
Grosvenor Square two days later, and drove 
the next day into the City. He called upon a 
firm of old-fashioned lawyers, and was at once 
received by the principal of the firm. The 
greeting, however, between the two men was 
mutually cold. The lawyer looked question- 
ingly at his visitor's grey tweed suit and 
Homburg hat. 

" We wrote you four days ago, Mr. Londe," 
he said, " to acquaint you with the news we 
had just received from America." 

" My wife ? " 

"She has been dangerously ill," the lawyer 
replied. " The habits of her life, I regret to 
say, are unchanged. It is necessary that she 
remains under restraint." 

" Is there any money left at all besides the 
four hundred pounds a year that goes to her ? " 
Londe asked. 

The lawyer sighed. 

" It is always money," he said, grimly. 
" There is the Priory still." 

" I won't sell it," Londe declared. 

" Then there is nothing else worth men- 

" If you were to sell everything else that 
belongs to me," Londe inquired, " how should 
I stand?" 

" You might have a thousand pounds." 

" Then I'll take it," Londe declared. " I 
am going to emigrate." 

For a moment the grim lines in the lawyer's 
face relaxed. 

" As an old friend of your father, Mr. 
Londe," he said, " it would give me great 
pleasure if I thought you were tired of the 
life you are reputed to live." 

" I am heartily sick of it," Londe assured 

" Then I will do my best to straighten out 
your affairs," the lawyer promised. " It will 
take a month. Shall you remain in town ? " 

" I expect so," Londe answered. " You 
know my address. I will call here a month 

Londe spent three restless weeks. The 
sight of the City was hateful to him. The 
clubs, where he was received coldly, the 
shadier resorts which he had been wont to 
patronize, were like nightmares to him. He 
turned his back suddenly upon them all, 
left London at two -twenty, and late in the 
afternoon of the following day arrived at 
Hy£res. He took a room at the hotel and 
wandered restlessly into the Casino. There 
was a variety entertainment going on in the 
theatre, which he watched for half an hour 
with ever-increasing weariness. Then a 
juggler came on and began the tricks of his 
profession. Londe leaned forward. The girl 
who stood at the table, assisting him, had 
turned her face to the house. He watched 
her with a little start. Something in the shy 
grace of her movements, the queer, half- 
frightened smile, seemed to have let loose 
memories which were tugging at his heart- 
strings. He got up with a little exclamation 
and left the place. To divert himself he 
strolled dow;i to the gambling saloon and 
threw| i^i 1 ^faq^S',-' r"e|ck}fl$sjty[, -aw ay at boule. 

1 62 



Presently the audience streamed out for the 
interval. He made his way back again to 
the promenade and came to a sudden stand- 
still. Before him on a chair the girl was seated, 
looking a little wist fully at the people who 
passed. There were traces of make-up still 
about her face ; her clothes were very simple. 
Then she saw Londe and gave a low cry. He 
came to a standstill before her. dumbfounded. 

14 It is you ! T5 she murmured. 

A hot flush stole over her face* As though 

instinctively, she glanced down at her skirt. 
u You saw me just now ? " she murmured. 

He took a seat by her side. He was a little 

" My child," he exclaimed, t£ what does it 
mean ? It wasn't really you ? " 

She nodded. She was over her first fit of 
shyness now. 

"The night I got home," she explained, 
" Monsieur A tie man came to the house* He 

had ^MCTT^f^#HIG#f tried tokiss 



me. I — I think that I went mad. I ran out 
into the fields and I hid. That night I walked 
miles and miles and miles. I came to Hy£res 
in the morning. There was an old servant 
here. I found her house. She was very 
poor, but she took me in. She lets lodgings 
to the people who come here to perform. 
This man was staying there, and the girl 
who travels with him was ill. Oil Monday 
I — I took her place. I earn a little. I have 
no money. I cannot be dependent upon 

She looked at him with trembling lips. He 
patted her hand. 

" My dear child/' he said, " it— you did 
right, of course ; but it is not a fit life for you." 

She was suddenly graver and older. 

" Will you tell me how in this world I am 
to live, then ? " she asked. 

He led her away to a table and ordered 
some coffee. The performance was over. 
She was sitting there only to listen to the 
music. He talked to her seriously for a 
time. There were no other relatives, not a 
friend in the world. 

" Monsieur Arleman," she explained, " has 
been ill ever since that night, but he has sworn 
that he will find me. My father doesn't care. 
He has his coffee, his brandy, his dijeuner ; 
he dines and reads — nothing else. He never 
cared. But, oh, I am terrified of Monsieur 
Arleman ! Why do you look so gravely, 
Monsieur Londe ? " she whispered, leaning 
across the table towards him. " Say that 
you are glad to see me, please ! " 

" I cannot quite tell you how glad," he said. 

He was on the point of telling her that he 
had come back to Hy£res only to catch a 
glimpse of her, but he held his peace. 

" I only regret," he added, " that you 
should have had to take up work like this. 
There are other things." 

" There is one thing only I can do," she 
cried. " Jean ! " 

She called to the violinist. He came across, 
bowing and smiling. She took the violin from 
his hand and commenced to play. Her eyes 
were half closed. 

" They let me do this," she murmured. 
" Listen. I will play to you." 

When she had finished many of the people 
had gathered around. Londe slipped a five- 
franc piece into the hand of the violinist. 

" I see now, little girl," he said, " the way 
out. I am going back with you to your 
lodgings. I am going to talk to Aline. After- 
wards we shall see." 

She left him on the platform at the Gare 

du Nord three weeks later. She was placed 
with a highly respectable French family. 
She was a pupil at the Conservatoire, with her 
fees paid for two years and the remainder of 
Londe's thousand pounds in the bank. She 
took his hand and the tears came into her 

" If only you had not to go ! " she whis- 
pered, clinging to him. " You have been so 
good, so dear, and you won't even let me love 
you ; you won't let me tell you that there 
isn't anything else in the world like even my 
thoughts of you." 

He kissed her lightly on both cheeks. 

" Little girl," he said, " it is well that you 
should love your guardian. Remember that 
I am old, and married, and a very impossible 
person. The little I have done for you is 
absolutely nothing compared with the many 
things I have done wrong or have left undone. 
Mind, I shall return some day soon to hear 
you play." 

The train bore him back to London. He 
sat in his rooms that night and reviewed his 
position. His little income, such as it was, 
was gone now for good. He had twenty- 
four pounds left in the world. He went 
to see his lawyer the next morning. 

" And when," the old gentleman asked, 
kindly, " do you start for Australia ? " 

Londe, when he had signed all the papers 
which were laid before him, held out his 
hand to the lawyer. 

" Mr. Ronald," he said, " shake hands with 
me for the last time. When you have heard 
my news I am afraid you will have finished 
with me. I am not going to emigrate at all." 

The lawyer's face fell. 

" The fact is," Londe continued, " I have 
spent that thousand pounds you sent me to 

" Spent it ? " the lawyer gasped. 

" I have either gambled with it or invested 
it," Londe sighed. " I can't tell which. 
That is on the knees of the gods. I have 
twenty pounds left, and I am off to the States 
— steerage — on Saturday. I am going to see 
my wife and find work out there, if I can." 

" Gambled with it or invested it ? " the 
lawyer repeated, puzzled. 

Londe nodded. " Very likely," he said, 
" I shall never know which myself." 

When, two years later, Londe found himself 
once more in Paris, a strange servant opened 
the door of the little French pension in the 
Rue de Castelmaine. She shook her head at 
Londe's inquiry. Mile. Felice was certainly 
not amongst the inmates of the pension. 




Londe, bronzed with travel and hard though 
he was, felt a sudden pain at his heart. He 
pushed through into the little hall to meet 
Mme. Regnier, the proprietress. She held 
out her hands. 

" But it is Monsieur Londe at last, then ! " 
she cried. " Welcome back once more to Paris." 

" Mile. Felice ? " he asked, eagerly. 

Mme. Regnier became suddenly grave. 

" Ah, that poor child ! " she exclaimed. 
" She has gone. It is eleven months ago 
since she came into my little sitting-room one 
morning. * Madame/ she said, ' I have 
finished with music. I have finished with 
Paris. It is of no use. Never will they make 
a musician of me. Herr Sveingeld has told 
me so himself. There are other things.' She 
left the next day." 

" But do you know where she went ? " 
Londe demanded. 

Madame shook her head. 

" She left no word." 

11 But why on earth was that ? " 

Madame shrugged her shoulders. 

" Mile. Felice/' she said, " was discreet 
always, and careful, if one can judge by 
appearances ; but she was far, far too beau- 
tiful for Paris and to be alone. The men I 
have thrown almost from the doorsteps, 
monsieur, the men who would wait till she 
came out ! For a week there was a motor-car 
always at the corner ! " 

Londe set his teeth firmly. 

" Do you think," he asked, " that Mile. 
Felice has found a lover, then ? " 

Mme. Regnier once more shrugged her 

" All I can say is," she pronounced, " that 
whilst she was here mademoiselle was, of all 
the young ladies I have ever known, the most 
discreet. Whether she has stolen away to 
escape, or the other thing, who can tell ? " 

Londe went to Herr Sveingeld. The old 
musician did not recognize him at first. Then 
he gripped him by the hand. 

" I remember you perfectly, monsieur," he 
declared. " The little lady — she gave it up. 
She was clever enough, talented in a way, 
perhaps, but without genius. She worked 
hard, but there was little to be made of her. 
Unless they are of the best, there is no call 
for girls who play the violin, especially with 
her appearance. A public dibut would only 
have been a nuisance to her." 

" Do you know where she has gone ? " 
Londe demanded. 

" I have no idea," Herr Sveingeld replied. 

Londe braced himself for the question he 


" Do you know anything of any admirers 
she may have had ? " 

Herr Sveingeld shook his head. 

" Why should I ? " he asked. " It is not 
my business. I think only of musk. As for 
my pupils, they are free to come and go. 
They can do what they like. I am not the 
keeper of their morals. I am here to teach 
them music." 

So Londe wandered back to his hotel. He 
spent three days in aimless inquiries leading 
nowhere. Then he took the train to the 
South. He stayed at an hotel in Hy£res,and 
the next morning he hired a motor-car and 
drove over the mountains and along the 
straight, white road which led once more 
to the hills. He leaned over and touched 
the chauffeur's shoulder as they came nearer 
to the place where he had first caught a 
glimpse of the little pink sunshade. The car 
slackened speed. He looked around him. 
It was all very much the same. Then the car 
came almost to a standstill at a corner. They 
met a market-cart filled with huge baskets of 
violets, and on a seat by the side of the 
driver — Felice ! 

Londe left the car whilst it was still crawling 
along. He stood out in the road, and Fdlice 
looked down at him and gave a little cry. 
She set her feet upon the shafts and sprang 
lightly into the road. The only word that 
passed between them was a monosyllable, 
and yet a hope that was almost dead sprang 
up again in the man's heart. Felice was very 
plainly dressed in trim, white clothes, a large 
straw hat, and over her dress she wore a 
blue smock such as the peasants wore in the 
field. In her eyes was still the light of heaven. 

11 But tell me," he begged, " what does it 
mean ? I went to Paris. No one could tell 
me what had become of you." 

She laughed, the laughter of sheer happiness. 

" Listen," she explained. " What was I 
to do ? Half of the money was gone. There 
was no hope for me. I can play the violin 
like others — no better, no worse. And — 
don't laugh — but Paris was a terrible place 
for me. There were so many foolish people. 
They gave me so little peace, and it would 
always have been like that. And then one 
day I read an article in one of our reviews, 
and I had a sudden idea. There was three 
hundred pounds of your money left. I came 
back. My father had died. The little house 
and an acre or so of vineyard belonged to me. 
Well, I hired more. I am a market gardener. 
Behold ! " 

She pointed to the fields. Londe followed 
the sweep of her lingers. Everywhere was an 



1 55 


air of cultivation. The vineyards were closely 
pruned. A w ond er f u 1 fi el d of v i ole t s s t r etched 
almost to the village, In the distance was the 
glitter of grass, rows of artichokes and peas, 
an orchard of peach trees in blossom. 

" It is our business/* she laughed; "yours 
and mine. See* I have no head for figures, 
but since I returned I have added four 
times to our capital We keep books, I 
have a manager, very clever. I was going to 
look at a little piece of land which is for sale 
and leave these violets at the station, It is 
nothing. Walk with me here up home, and 
while they get dejeuner ready I will show you. 
Come this way. You must see the almond 

They passed across the field, where twenty 
or thirty blue-smocked peasants were at 
work. Felice stopped once or twice to speak 
to them. Finally they entered another gate 
and passed through an orchard, pink and white 
with blossom, The air seemed faint and sweet 
with a perfume almost exotic. The sunshine 
lay all around them. When they came out, 
she turned a little to her right and pointed to 
the road j straight and dazzlingly white — 
pointed to where it disappeared over the hills, 


" After all," she said, " it meant something 
to me — the road to liberty." 

They were at the edge of the orchard. He 
took her hands firmly in his. 

" Felice/' he murmured, " it may mean so 
much to you j if you will, for I have come back 
— I am free — I am no longer a wanderer. I, 
too, have worked, and 1 have been fortunate. 
And the day when I commenced my new life 
— and the whole reason of it — was the day we 
travelled over that road together." 

She came closer and closer to him, and her 
eyes were softer, and she seemed to him like 
the fairest thing on earth. 

" I have prayed/' she whispered, " oh, I 
have prayed all my days that you might 
return and bring back love with you— like 


Some New Anecdotes 
of Mark Twain. 


These interesting reminiscence* of Mark Twain are written by the lady in whose house, in Bermuda, 
he stayed during the la« months of his life, and are illustrated with some most characteristic photographs 

here published for the first time. 


PARK TWAIN, although the 
i rcator of the most lovable 
boy In literature, " Tom 
Sawyer/' was really more 
interested in little girls, and 
it was through his interest and 
affection for my little daughter 
Helen that we came to know him so well and 
to share the last months of his life. He used 
to pretend that only girls were interesting, 
that bays ought not to exist until they were 
men. The fact was, he really was interested 
young creature. In one of the books 
It is better to be 
old bird of 


in anv 


he gave Helen he wrote, 
a young June-beetle than 

During his first visit to our home in Ber- 
muda, a touch of the picturesque signalized 
a step in our acquaintance, just such a scene 
as might have come out of one of his own 
books P The flagship Euryalus w x as enter- 

taining, and we had received word that 
something unusual and mysterious was to 
take place during the afternoon. So we 
persuaded Mark Twain to go with us, on 
a particular boat which we had been warned 
not to miss. As the steady old steamer with 
its burden of light-hearted humanity calmly 
steamed through the Narrows, we were 
startled by the appearance of a ship's long- 
boat ? boasting a formidable gun and full 
of fierce-looking pirates ! They were armed 
to the teeth and wildly gesticulating. Our 
ship was hailed, but on receiving no reply three 
shots were fired across our bow, which quickly 
brought us to anchor. They hoarded us so 
eagerly that they failed to secure their own 
craft firmly, and she was caught in the tide, 
swirled upon a rock ; and sank in the channel. 
They swarmed over our ship in their blood- 
thirsty array, capturing the officers, two of 
whom were v.mth tu walk the plank in full 




regalia. They hauled down the British flag 
and flew the skull and crossbones in its place, 
And when the crew and passengers were 
thoroughly intimidated, they ordered the 
ship to proceed to the Pirates 5 Lair, officially 
known as the Euryalus, that awaited her 
guests, drawn up to the jetty, at the dock- 

He grew uneasy, feeling it discourteous to 
keep the audience waiting, and was just 
about to say to the young man seated beside 
him — in fact., his mouth was forming the 
words, (l If that infernal Chief Justice would 
only come , we might begin/' when the 
" young man " arose and proceeded to intro- 
duce him ! 

It was during this stay in Ber- 
muda that Mark Twain decided to 
have an aquarium of his own, " with 
little girls instead of fishes and him- 
self as the only shad in the pond," 
And Helen was one of the first to be 
decorated with the badge of the order, 
which was a little angel -fish brooch, 
enamelled in the natural colours. He 
told me that sometimes, when he felt 
very humble, he would be a minnow/ 
but he was afraid he would be the 
shad most of the time I 

yard. The joke was wonder- 
fully well done } the costumes 
most realistic } and the acting 
so good that one felt trans- 
posed into the far-away days 
of Bermuda's early history, 
when tradition says that to 
be captured by pirates was 
nothing unusual and almost 
to be expected in these waters. 
The refreshing piquancy of it 
all appealed to Mark Twain, 
and this delightful adventure 
charmed him exceedingly, 

A few days after this, 
when he came to Bay House 
to bathe in the sea with Helen, he told us 
of an experience of his the night before at 
a little speech he gave at the hospital. 
He said he had been told that he was to 
be introduced by the Chief Justice, but he 
had not met him. Arriving in good season, 
he was shown to the platform, and there 
greeted by several old friends, besides some 
that he did not know. Presently the house 
filled, " Royalty " arrived and was seated, 
but there was no sign of the Chief Justice, 





He had the lifelong habit of underscoring 
anything he thought true or beautiful in 
the book or magazine he was reading* I 
found this quotation much underscored in 
a magazine he read while he was with us: 
" It has been said that a man's last will and 
testament best expresses his character. Does 
it ? Do we not rather know a man best from 
the simple act, look, or speech of daily life, 
when the consciousness is unaware ? " Per- 
haps this record of his last months may give 


1 68 


%omt knowledge of the man Mark Twain was 
to his friends. He usually spent his mornings 
with his books ; his books and cigars were 
always with him. His bed was covered with 
books, manuscripts, and writing materials, 
while at the head of his bed was a table with 
all kinds of smoking paraphernalia, except 
cigarettes* Any .spare moments were spent 
in reading, night or day, and he frequently 
carried a book with him on the chance of 
an unoccupied moment. Carlyle*s " French 
Revolution ," Pcpys*s Diary, Kipling's works, 
reference books of science were always at 
hand, besides recent books of note which 
were sent him by every mail. 

He seldom dressed before luncheon, but 
w r as in and out of 
his room in his gay 
kimono and slippers 
as the fancy took 
him. His room was 
on the ground floor, 
with a door open- 
ing on to the ver- 
anda which sur- 
rounds the house. 
The lawn is but a 
step down from the 
veranda, almost on 
the level, in fact ; as 
is often the way in 
these old Bermuda 
bungalows. This 
one is over tw r o 
hundred years old, 
and has many of 
the old-time charac- 
teristics left. In 
this out-of-the-way, 
secluded spot one 
does not realize the 
nearness of other 
homes. Sometimes 
he would w ? ander 
out on the lawn 

enjoying his pipe, and if it happened to 
by chance Helen had 


be near noon 

returned from school and we had met in 
the garden, down he would come to join 
us for a chat, near the quaint old ship's 
figure-head, here at last peacefully at anchor- 
Many times we warned him we would take 
his picture, and did so one day, much to his 

It was a quiet time, for he had come for 
a rest. We had little going on — now and then 
some friends to dine or for afternoon tea, 
people who interested or amused him, the 
band concerts which he so gTeatly enjoyed, 

and a few such breaks in our quiet routine. 
After one of these concerts, when he had 
been caught and had to speak to twenty-five 
members of a women's club, he wrote during 
the night, " Rules of Etiquette on Reaching 
Heaven/' They were to be for the benefit of 
his secretary > Mr; Paine, if he should reach 
heaven without a guide, and each point in 
the evening's lionizing was strikingly brought 

To have our tea at one of the beaches was 
a favourite afternoon's amusement. He 
would tell us stories by the hour, or join the 
children's games with equal pleasure, I 
remember a story he told us one afternoon. 
It belonged to the time when he was a reporter 

in San Francisco* 
He had gone a long 
distance to tell the 
story of a boat-race. 
He had reached the 
town the night be- 
fore, tired out* On 
the morning of the 
race he heard it 
raining steadily* He 
turned over and 
went to sleep again* 
secure in the fact 
that there would be 
no race that day. 
When he did turn 
out late in the 
af t ern oo n , w hat was 
his surprise to find 
that it had been a 
beautiful bright 
day, and the race 
brought to a suc- 
cessful finish ! The 
rain he had heard 
was the pattering 
of a fountain just 
outside his win- 
dow ! 

I can see now the listeners' keen enjoy- 
ment of this story. They may have heard it 
before, but any story was always new when 
Mark Twain told it. He recreated it in some 
fascinating new way each time he told it. 
This, he said, was the highest " art " in story- 

Mr, Allen found that there was a film of 
" The Prince and the Pauper " in the local 
picture show, and that there was a picture 
of Mark Twain himself in it. Mark Twain 
was keen to see it, for he said he had always 
wanted to see what a personation of himself 
would be like. "When he did see it, it was 




positively uncanny to see him there in the 
frame, puffing his cigar and looking about in 
exactly the same way that he was doing at 
our side. He said it was like looking in a 
mirror, but it was so lifelike it gave him a 
creepy feeling. We wanted to hear the records 
made of his voice. What a pleasure it would 
be to hear them now, but we have heard 
they were accidentally destroyed. 

He helped Helen with her lessons, and they 
had the happiest time over them. One of his 
ways of teaching was for her to see if he knew 
them, and for every mistake there was a 
severe penalty, such as writing out the mis- 
take fifty times, which he faithfully fulfilled. 
We have several pages of his pad filled with 
words written as penalties, and dozens filled 
with French translations. 

When he came to us he had just pub- 
lished " A Fable " (in Harper's Magazine), 
and it was a rare treat to hear him read it 
in his dramatic way. I remember our keen 
appreciation of it, particularly that hand- 
some word " sesquipedalian/' used so 
casually. He said he was always fond of 
fine-sounding words, and sometimes saved 
one for a long time before he found just the 
place to use it. Kipling's coinage of words 
was a delight to him. It is marvellous to 
us that he should ever be thought of merely 
as a humorist. His humour he could not 
help ; it was spontaneous, and served but as 
a vehicle to attract the casual mind to 
his beautiful ideas and thoughts. 

In the evenings he would play his favourite 
card game, hearts. Night after night he would 
play and never seem to tire. He knew the 
game thoroughly, and at first won continually, 
but even when the family grew proficient, 
and at last became formidable opponents, 
his zeal was unabated. He would make the 
most of impossible hands, although disgusted 
with bad luck, for he hated to lose. He started 
to learn bridge, but gave it up, saying he 
had not the patience to learn so many fussy 

Meantime, the heart attacks from which 
he was suffering had grown more frequent, 
though not more distressing nor of longer 
duration. A cup of almost boiling water 
usually succeeded in relieving them, and two 
or three cups were sure to succeed. 

One morning he had a very serious bleeding 
of the nose in the garden, and the entire 
family were busy, maids, valet, and all 
bringing wet cloths for his relief. Amused 
at such a fuss being made over him, he said, 
with a quiet chuckle, " Helen, run quickly 
and get a pencil and paper, so that you can 

take down my last words. It is the only thing 
that has been forgotten." And then followed 
a discussion as to just what was proper in 
the way of last words. He contended that 
they were usually " faked," for he thought 
it impossible that at the moment of death 
last words could be thought of. 

He was happiest when it rained, as it did at 
one time for nearly three days, so that the 
whole family were storm-bound. We were in 
his room all day long, talking, or he would 
read to us. We discussed everything, including 
equal suffrage, in which he was a firm believer, 
and said that women were excusable for any 
lengths they went in gaining their point, 
yet it would only be a short time before it 
would be an accepted fact everywhere. 

Theology was a frequent subject of dis- 
cussion, so we can safely refute the many 
mistakes made as to his beliefs. His ideas on 
religion were different from any conventional 
ones, but he could not truly be called an 
agnostic, for he firmly believed, and as a 
result of the deepest thought, in a Supreme 
Being. The following passage, marked 
by him in a book read during the winter, 
gives an insight into his thoughts on 
heaven and a hereafter : "I do not think 
of heaven as a glittering place with streets 
of gold and walls of pearl, but more like the 
quiet woods, where the grass is green and the 
little brook sings all day. I have thought of 
heaven as a place where those who love shall 
be together, free from all thought of parting." 

One afternoon, when we were sitting around 
the fire, he read us extracts from " Tom 
Sawyer," and told us that many of the inci- 
dents in it were taken from his own life — 
notably the whitewash scene, and the cat 
and the pain-killer. 

One evening we had two young boys to 
dine that he admired, but who were a little 
in awe of him. He soon put them at their 
ease, and they were happily exchanging stories 
in a short time. He told his in his best style, 
and it inspired one of the boys to tell an 
unusually good story he had heard. 

When he was fairly launched he noticed 
a twinkle in Mark Twain's eye which made him 
stop and ask if he had ever heard it before. 

Mark Twain said " No," so S proceeded 

with the story, but again noticing that know- 
ing expression, he asked a second time if 
Mark Twain was sure he had not heard it. 
" No," said he again. But when the story 
was finished there was that particularly 
pleased expression, like the cat that ate the 
canary. So he asksd once more if Mark 

T ^Mim<m:iffifa *• At this 





Frvm a Pkotcvr&pk. 

Mark laughed heart ily, and confessed he 
wrote it himself. " But/ 1 said the youth, 
" why did you say twice before you had not 
heard it ? " " Well, you ofily asked me 
twice, and I could easily tell two fibs for 
politeness ; but when you asked me the 
third time, I had to tell the truth." So 
after that, if we suspected him of u fooling/' 
we always asked him three times, till he had 
to tell the truth. 

On Valentine's Day he wrote Helen an 
original valentine : — 

February 14TH, 1910* 

I know a precious little witch. 

And Helen is Kef name. 
With eyes so blue,, the asters say, 

" They bring our blue to shame " ; 
And cheeks so pink the eglantines, 

That by the roadway blow, 
Shed all their leaves when so they fail 

To match the dainty glow 
That steals across from ear to ear, 

And down from eyes to chin, 
When that sweet face betrays the thoughts 

That hidden lie within. 

I am hers, though she's not mine ; 
I'm but her loyal 

V a Sen tine- 

Soon after this he read us the manuscript 

of a story that was about half finished — 
u marvellous story of intense interest, by 
which he intended to show the insignificance 
of the human race. He would read a little, 
and then we would talk it over, for in this 
way he hoped to encourage the mood to 
finish it. In fact, he almost succeeded in 
doing so, when he took a severe cold, which 
rapidly developed into bronchitis, and the 
cough so racked him that it occupied his 
entire attention. 

He would sit out in the garden well wrapped 
up in a sunny spot, come home early from 
his afternoon drive, and nightly used a 
vaporizer, which his friend Mr. Woodrow 
Wilson recommended to him. But we found 
it very difficult to make him take care of 
himself, for he was impatient of any restraint* 
Mr. Wilson was then President of Princeton 
University. Mark Twain had always admired 
him sincerely, and said that he had a great 
future before him. 

On Sunday (April 3rd it was) he received 
this cable ; — 
" To Mark Twain, Hamilton, Bermuda. 

M The clowns of Barnum and Bailey's 
Circus, recognizing you as the world's greatest 
laughmaker, will consider it an honour if 
you will be their guest at Madison Square 
Garden, Sunday afternoon, April 3rd, at 
two. Will you please answer collect, — 
Barnum and Bailey. 

("A reply of fifty words has been prepaid 
on this message/') 

He chuckled when he read it, and then 
gave it to us to read, saying, lt I will answer 
at once, so as not to keep them waiting." 
And without hesitation he wrote this reply : — 

" I am very, very sorry, but all last week's 
dates are full. I will come week before last, 
if that will answer. — Mark Twain, 

" Twenty-five Collect," 




As he was recovering from the bronchitis 
and feeling much relieved at his escape, came 
the famous cricket week, when everyone in 
the island thought of nothing but cricket, 
and spent most of their time watching the 
game enthusiastically- He had never under- 
stood it thoroughly before, but he said he 
felt sure it must be a good game if an entire 
nation thought it so. And he was soon as 
keen as anyone, and attending daily. 


From a) 
Val. nLvL-22, 

TO dri:ss- 


Here is a list of 



It is not good form for the ignorant spec- 
tator to be constantly questioning his intelli- 
gent neighbour about the game. 

There should be intervals of from one to two 

minutes between the questions, otherwise the 

intelligent neighbour will eventually get tired. 

The questions usually asked— and the 

answers usually furnished — are as , 

follows. Study them carefully, and 

keep still : — 

ignorant Spectator : " What are 
those things there ? ** 

Intelligent Neighbour : " Wio 

IS.:" What are they for?'' 

I, N, : "For the umpire to sil 
down on when he is tired/' 

(Written after first day's attend- 
ance of cricket.) 

The first dangerous attack 
came on March 22nd, when out 
visiting* He was so ill that we 
feared we might not get him 
home, but when it passed off he 
would not let us make any 
change in our plans. But from this 
time on he slept little, and the 
shortness of breath began, when 
it really seemed an established 
thing that he could not lie down 
without its return. One night when 
he was very tired, but could not 
sleep* he said, " Now I- know what 
poor l Livy * suffered," He was 
thinking of his wife r who had this 
same difficulty. He was always 
thinking of her, and towards the 
last spoke of her constantly, A 
few days before he left he wrote 
in ** Eve's Diary/' which he gave 
to the doctor, " Wheresoever she 
was, there was Eden." There 
never was a more devoted hus- 
band, and in these last days his 
thoughts were with her always. 
It was almost as if he were reach* 
ing out to her, feeling her near. 

One evening he fell into a dis- 
cussion of style in writing. He 
had just read a book which made 
him indignant with the author 
because of his redundant use of 
the word " that/ 1 This fault an- 
noyed him excessively, and he 
called our attention to its fre- 
quency, :a TfiR&Pkvemng we had with 




us a young couple of whom he was very 

fond, and Mrs, H insisted that she 

had been told by an authority that a 
correct sentence could be made in which 
11 that " was used four times consecutively. 
He thought a moment, 
and then wrote this 
sentence : — 

"It is not thai that that 
that refers to, but " 

Another night, when 
these same young people 
had come to play hearts 
with us, he felt too tired 
to play, having had no 
sleep for twenty - four 
hours. So he asked us 
to bring the card - table 
into his room and play 
near his bed, where he 
could watch the game. 
He said he thought he 
might fall asleep in this 
way, and he made us 
promise not to leave until 
he was sound asleep, if 
he did. So we played 
there quietly, and pre- 
sently he fell asleep sitting 
there propped up in bed, 
with a cigar in his 

During the first week 
of April 1 took some 
pictures of him t and this 
was the last time he was 
ever able to dress, for he 
soon grew so weak that 
he was practically kept 
alive by the doctor's con- 
stant care. 

And so ended his last 
visit, which will be a 
precious memory to us all, 
these last months of his 
life, spent in cur home. 

The return journey was 
terrible for him ; he was 
so weak he could not be dressed, and, 
wearing only his coat and wrapped in 
rugs, he had to be carried in a chair to 
the private tender, in which we took him 
to the Oceana. But he seemed to 
enjoy the sail up, and joked with Helen as 
usual, keeping her laughing most of the time. 
We had encouraging reports of him at 
first, and it was a great comfort to know his 
daughter was with him. We did not realize 
that he was peacefully slipping away, just 





^toppi a Pkoioffraph. 

as he would have planned to die. So the 
cable announcing his death came as a sudden 

And while he lay there drifting he 
could think, among all his other cares, 
to ask that some books he wanted me to 
have should not fail to be sent. It was 
almost his last request. And so did 
this most characteristic point in his nature 
hold true to the last — his unfailing thought 
for other? Ori g i n a I f ro m 


gueen Gbphetua 








T was long past midnight when 
a wretchedly-dressed woman 
slouched from one of the 
turnings that lead down from 
the Strand to the Embank- 
ment, with her head bent to 
the rain that was blown like 
a thin mist on the wind. 

The broad stretch of road was bare, except 
for an occasional taxi-cab speeding homewards 
empty to its garage. A hooded van, laden 
with goods for some early morning delivery 
in a distant suburb, rattled towards West- 
minster, and a great double-deck tram, 
blazing and warm with light in that cold 
rain, slid along wet rails with the last night- 
workers for its passengers. 

The rain made puddles and pools that 
stole the pallid glow of the electric light and 
turned it into twisted reflections, and the 
bridges loomed impalpably above the water, 
their light hung in the air like a chain of 
stars, between the impenetrable sky and the 
black murk of the river. 

The woman picked her way across the 
street, clutching a ragged shawl closer to 
her thin frame. She walked with the hesi- 
tating steps of one who was unfamiliar with 
the path, looking to left and right with quick, 
nervous turns of her head, as though she 
feared observation. There was mud on her 
shabby skirt, not the fresh mud of a night, 
but the accumulated, caked mud of many 
days, and her boqts sagged with the wet. 
As she came to the parapet, and stood for 
a moment looking at the long, empty road 
that stretched to Hungerford Bridge, her 
face shone clearly in the lamplight. It was 
a face thin and pallid, marked with dark 
shadows under the eyes that burned then 
with a suggestion of excitement. Unques- 
tionably it was a face that held beauty behind 
all its haggardness. It might even be made 

beautiful now, if those hard lines about the 
cheeks could be taken away and the deep 
shadows around the eyes painted out. As 
much of her hair that showed under the 
tattered shawl was of a pale, uncertain colour, 
yet its texture was fine and silky ; brought 
over the forehead, instead of brushed back, it 
might have changed the appearance of her 
face. There seemed, even to the most casual 
observer, some refinement about this woman. 
She was, you would have said, one who had 
come down in the world. 

And now, having peered for a time at the 
dark tide that hurried dimly and mysteriously 
below the parapet, she turned with a sigh, 
and with the same timidity of step that marked 
all her movements she went towards a seat 
and sought a place. 

Three men were sitting there — three men 
who were wrecks of humanity. One of them 
was asleep, a huddled, inert lump, with his 
head on one side and his mouth gaping in 
slumber. His face was the index to a tragic 
life — unshaven, bloated, and weak even in 
sleep. He seemed a thing without spirit — 
a mere husk of a man. 

The woman did not sit by him. 

The next man leaned against the curved 
back of the seat, jabbering in incoherent 
jocularity to himself and the night. He was 
bearded and blear-eyed and ragged, and it 
was clear that he had begged sufficiently to 
get himself drunk. The woman contemplated 
him for a moment, and the man waved his 
hand at her feebly and murmured unintelli- 
gible things. He was more revolting than 

She did not sit by him. 

The third man sat at the far end of the 
seat. He was young and good-looking, and 
his face was clean-shaven. His clothes were 
not the rags of despair, but rather the shabbi- 
ness of acute desolation. The coat was 
buttoned right up to the collarless neck, and 
U N I V Lnbl IT U r ml L H Iti A N 



his hands were thrust deep into the pockets. 
In the light of the lamp the woman noted 
the trousers torn at ,the edges and the boots 
that lacked laces. He wore a bowler hat 
crushed ludicrously on the back of his head, 
and there was about him an air of utter dejec- 
tion that touched the heart of the woman. He 
was so young. 

She sat down by him. 

As she sat down the young man, who had 
been staring before him immovably, turned his 
head slowly towards her, and she was con- 
scious that he was looking at her. She closed 
her eyes to make as if she would sleep, and 
when she opened them again she stole a 

The next moment he spoke. 

11 It's a rotten night!" he said. 

His voice was not unpleasant, a natural, 
rather cultivated voice, with a hint of the 
Irish brogue in it. Evidently he had come 
down quite a lot in the world. 

" Yes," said the woman, 

The man smiled. Again his eyes held that 
curious look in them. He gazed ahead of 
him at the whisky sign that lights up green 
and red in the night on the old shot-tower by 
Black friars. 

11 That's pretty, isn T t it ? J1 he said. " I 
can watch that for hours. You don't see the 
1 De ' from here ; you only see ' War * — 


furtive glance, and saw that he had altered 
the position of his head so that he could 
regard her without turning to look at her. 
She saw that his eyes were brown and bright 
and intelligent. They had not the hang- 
dog, beaten look in them that one would have 
expected from his clothes. 

For a moment their eyes met, and there 
was something in his^ some indefinable 
challenge, half assertion, half query, that 
ma^o her look away again. 

1 War ■ in red letters, blinking all night long 
over London." 

She was surprised to hear him speak like 

u You come here often ? " she asked. 

4i Every night,' J he replied. <f What is 
one to do when one has neither food nor 
money ? " 

And there was a pause. 

14 And you ? " he asked. 

She hesitated before giving an answer, 




" I ? Oh, I come now and then when times 
are bad. What's brought you to this ? " 

" Same old story," he laughed, shortly. 

" Drink, I suppose ? " 

He watched her with an amused smile 
— there was something of a cynic in him — 
and saw a flicker of pity cross her face. 

" Poor man ! " she murmured, and then, 
suddenly changing her tone, she too laughed, 
a reckless, artificial laugh. " Well," she said, 
" I suppose we're all the same. Mine's 
drink, too." 

" Good God ! " said the man, swiftly. 
" You — surely not you ? " 

There was a note of horror in his voice. 

The woman nodded. " Not now, perhaps, 
but years ago. It's a long story." 

" Tell it- to me," the man said, eagerly. 
" Tell me your story." 

" I'd rather hear yours," she said. " When 
did you have any food last ? " 

" I got a crust this afternoon. That's all 
to-day. I got late for the soup tickets." 

" Only a crust all day ! That is dreadful. 
Aren't you hungry ? " 

" Not so very. It's quite easy to make 
one's stomach independent of the clock. 
Mealtimes never chime for me. Now, when 
did you have food last ? " 

He smiled at her quizzically. 

" I had a meal about three hours ago. 
A kind lady gave me a shilling as the theatres 
were emptying, and I spent it." 

" What ! the whole shilling ? " he cried. 
" A whole shilling on food ? " 

" Ye-e-es/' she faltered. " Why not ? " 

11 It's a lot to spend. What did you buy ? " 

She fumbled with her shawl. 

M Oh, sausages and things," she said. 
" I forget, really — and — and, of course, I had 
some drink." 

His lower lip jutted out cruelly, as though 
bitter thoughts were in his mind. She saw 
that he really was a good-looking young man, 
and he could only see the thin, haggard face, 
lined and worn, of a broken woman who was 
undoubtedly well bred. 

" It's a cruel shame," he said. " I never 
thought I should meet anyone like you. 
What were you — a typewriter ? " 

" No," she said, " I was just nothing. 
But that doesn't matter." 

She was touched by his manner and his 
hungry look. For a time there was silence, 
and then he shivered. 

" Are you cold ? " she asked. 

" Yes," he said. " I never thought it was 
as bad as all this. It's all so cruel and un- 
reasonable. * War ' — there it is again." He 

shook his fist at the emerald lights that 
headed the night. " War on human beings, 
that's what it is. Heavens ! the cruelty of 
this London of ours ! Look at them — no 
future — death in life." 

His voice rose, and the man who was 
asleep woke up complainingly and threatened 
to bash the jaw of the drunken man who 
lolled at his side. There was a hint of foul 
language in the air, and the man, anxious to 
avoid a disturbance, said to the woman, 
" Come on, let's stroll down to another 

They walked along the Embankment, 
and a policeman passed them, eyeing them 
casually, as he padded towards Blackfriars in 
his noiseless rubber boots. They passed other 
seats where huddled groups sat and slept in 
the rain. 

" Look at it all ! " he cried. He pointed 
to the shadows of great hotels that stood 
vaguely against the skyline. " Look at 
those — every room holding someone snugly 
asleep! I'd like to drag them out of their 
soft white downy beds and show them our 
benches. Fat, wealthy people they are — and 
you " — his voice took on another tone — 
" you walking here alone and friendless." 
He put his hand under her shawl to touch 
her arm. There was friendliness and a sense 
of protection in his gesture, but she shrank 
back from him in dismay. 

He noticed that. 

" Oh, you needn't be afraid," he said, 
shortly. " I'm a gentleman, you know." 

" I can see that," she answered, softly. 

" I'm not quite so bad as I seem, you know. 
I might be able to help you. Look here, 
do you want money ? I haven't got much on 
me. I only came out with a shilling or so, 
but it's yours." 

He held out two shillings to her. She was 

" But — but then, why didn't you buy 
yourself food ? " 

He frowned. 

" What's that to do with you ? " he 
asked. " I suppose I can do as I like ? Take 
the money, and good-bye." 

He thrust the two shillings into her hand, 
and started walking in the direction of North- 
umberland Avenue. 

He had not gone far before he felt a timid 
touch on his shoulder. He turned and saw 
the woman again. Her face was strained with 
sorrow and pity. 

" Look here," she said, changing her voice. 
" I'm sorry. When vou gave me your money, 

^iMMftfW^ftGA^ not what you 



think I am. It's too difficult to tell you in 
the street." 

A passing taxi crawled along. The driver, 
seeing two people talking, slowed up by them. 
They were in the shadows, and he could not 
see their rags. 

" Taxi ! " said the woman, suddenly. 

The driver came to a dead stop. 

" Please come with me," she said, " and 
I can explain. Besides, you are hungry and 
cold. I can give you food and warmth and 
money to set you on your feet again." 

" My God ! " he said. " Who are you ? " 

" Never mind now." 

The taxi-driver opened the door for them, 
looking queerly at his two wretched fares 
until he heard the address. 

" Tell him to drive to Nassau Court." 

Nassau Court ! It was a magic address — 
a great block of private flats attached to the 
most famous hotel in the Strand. 

" One of these here fancy-dress balls, 
I s'pose," the taxi-driver murmured. " Ara- 
bian Nights' entertainments and such." 


The man sat by her side, bewildered. In 
one moment he had been whisked from the 
wet and misery of the Embankment on the 
wings of adventure. As for the woman, her 
poverty and squalor seemed suddenly to fall 
from her, and by her bearing she showed 
that she was used to giving commands. 
He had noticed that in her manner when 
she called the taxi-driver, in the complete 
self-possession with which she entered the 
cab. It was no strange thing to her ; she 
sat back against the leather of the seat 
with the air of one used to luxury and 

Who was she ? He wanted to ask her again, 
but in his bewilderment he seemed unable 
to put a sentence together, and by the time 
he had recovered, and was on the point of 
asking her, the cab had passed the large 
hotels in Northumberland Avenue, slid round 
the shining emptiness of Trafalgar Square, 
down the Strand to the quiet courtyard of 
Nassau Court. 

A night porter in splendid livery came out 
of the glass doors as the taxi drew up and 
opened the door for them. He did not seem 
at all dismayed when the ragged pair alighted. 
On the contrary, as if it were the most usual 
thing in the world for two tramps to drive 
up at two o'clock in the morning to the 
splendour of Nassau Court, he smiled at the 
woman and said, " Good evening, miss." 

He said nothing to the man, only looking 

at him with the casual, expressionless glance 
of a well-trained servant. 

" You might pay the taxi, Nichols," she 

And the servant paid the fare and led 
the way inside. A bright fire burnt in the 
hall, and the electric light gave the place 
gaiety and brightness after the squalor of 
the Embankment. They passed into a 
lift, and glided noiselessly and swiftly to the 
second floor. 

" Good night, miss," the servant said. 

" Good night, Nichols," said the woman in 
rags, as he closed the lift door gently, and 
sank out of view with the subdued whooing 
of the lift. 

She led the way to a room numbered 342 
— there are seven hundred suites in Nassau 
Court — and the door opened on a vision of 
comfort. The first impression the man 
received was one of pink luxury ; that was 
the leit motif running through the harmony 
of colour in the room. The carpet that 
yielded to his footsteps — luckily they had 
dried their feet on the mat in the hall — 
was of a deeper note than the walls, which 
supplied a soft tone of salmon-pink that 
blended with the crushed strawberry of silken 
curtains and the dawn-pink of the lamp- 
shades. He perceived vaguely that there 
was daintiness in this room, daintiness in 
the little marble and terra-cotta statues of 
Venuses and Apolios, and in the lace fripperies 
that belonged to the table-centre or mingled 
with the silken curtains. The furniture was 
Empire, graceful and gilt and loudly pink, 
and a delicate ormolu clock, all cupids and 
nymphs, struck the hour with a clear and 
musical chime, like the drip of water in 
a grotto. 

They looked utterly fantastic, these two 
people in rags and tatters, in this setting of 
luxurious comfort. 

The ordered beauty of the room, the scent 
of a heavy bouquet of Malmaison roses in 
a Sevres bowl on the rosewood piano, and 
the sight of the warm fire on the hearth, 
and, best of all, the glimpse of some food in 
a chafing-dish — all these charmed and gratified 
the senses. 

He decided to look upon this as an adven- 
turous dream. 

She must have seen the amazement and 
incredulity in his face, for she laughed gaily 
and said, in a voice quite different from the 
voice she had used on the Embankment : — 

" Oh, it's all real. You needn't be afraid. 
I'm a fairy queen — Queen Cophetua, if you 
like. Now, sit down there." She pointed 







to an arm chair by the fire. " And don't 
move at all till I come back." 

She vanished into another room, humming 
gaily to herself. 

While he was alone the man looked at him- 
self in the glass and murmured to his reflection 
with a sardonic smile, " You're doing well, 
my son. This is a bit of luck." 

Then he sat down by the fire once more 
and waited. 

She was back again. The portiere over the 
door was pushed aside, and he saw a picture 
that made him catch his breath in his throat 
with a queer quiver of joy. For there in the 
doorway stood a woman of wonderful beauty 
— the woman of the Embankment, as she 
might have been before she came to the rags 
and shabbiness of her downfall, the woman as 
she was to-day. 

Her hair was glorious and rich, no longer 
brushed back from her forehead, but waved 
carelessly over its pale beauty, and some 
miracle had taken the lines and hollows from 
her face and the shadows away from 
her eyes. Her face was surprising in the 
beauty of its clear-cut oval and delicate 
features, but through it all the observer 
could trace the resemblance to the wretched 
woman who had sat on a bench beside him 
on the Embankment barely an hour before. 

He looked at her, clad in a Chinese dressing- 
gown, all sprawling dragons and chrysanthe- 
mums; "clasped round the waist with a scarlet 
gfrdle, the highest note in that melody of 
pink in her sitting-room. 

And, as he looked at her, he in his shabby 
clothes and she in the splendid simplicity 
of her gown, an odd look came into his eyes, 
a look of profound humiliation, as though 
he were all too conscious of her beauty and 
her riches and his own poorness. He looked 
at her wistfully, she thought, searching her 
face, and then suddenly he cried out, " Why> 
I know who you are ! " 

She echoed his laughter. 

" Not really ! " she exclaimed. 

" Yes," he said, huskily. " I've seen your 
photographs everywhere, and I've seen you 
too. You're Ivy Marling. I've seen you in 
'.The Pensioner.'" He seemed to change 
his tone as though anxious to check his 
familiarity. " I paid a shilling a few weeks 
a^o and went in the gallery." 

" You spent a shilling — maybe your last 
shilling — to see me act ? " 

41 Yes," he said. " It was worth it. 
You're splendid — I could never feel hungry 
listening to you." 

She came farther into the room. iThe 

Digitized by ^OOQ Ic 

sadness of this man attracted her. There 
was something faithful and sincere in his 
eyes. He looked hungry and poor, and she 
wanted to help him. 

" Well," she said, going over to the chafing- 
dish, " I suppose you're hungry. You see, 
I lied to you on the Embankment. Sit down." 

He sat down near the table and she gave 
him a dainty plate of food — scrambled eggs, 
anchovies, and fish with a subtly-flavoured 
sauce. He ate it with a silver knife and fork. 
She observed that his table manners were 
good. Under the shabbiness the well-bred 
man was still there. 

" Well," she said, with a smile on her 
pretty lips, " what do you think of me ? " 

" I don't know what to think except that 
it's all wonderful, and you're the most 
wonderful of it all." 

" Not so bad. But aren't you wondering 
what's the matter with me to roam about 
the Embankment in rags ? " 

" A lark ! I suppose," he said, gloomily. 
" Or a wager, perhaps." 

" Wrong and wrong. I'll tell you really, 
if you would like to know. Do you know 
why you paid your last shilling to come and 
see me?" 

" Because you're the most wonderful 
actress in the world." 

" Have some more fish " 

" No ! I don't want any more." 

" Finish it all. It's because whenever I 
have a part to play, I study it and live it. 
Now, my next part happens to be — well, the 
part I was playing to-night, and one of the 
scenes is the Embankment. I wanted to go 
there myself — in character, and see what it 
was like." 

He was intensely interested. 

" I see. You are a good actress, you took 

me in completely. I'd no idea " He 

laughed again, and to hide his confusion 
went on eating the fish. 

" And oh ! " she continued, " I was so 
sorry when I saw how real, how tragic it all 
was ; those terrible creatures on the seats, 
the horror of the dismal poverty, the hopeless 
wretchedness of the night! And you — you 
looked so sad and forlorn, and yet you seemed 
to keep up such a brave heart." 

" You are very kind. You need have no 
pity on me. I brought it all on myself.*' 
He smiled at her. " Do you know," he 
said, « I'm glad." 

" Why ? " 

" I'm glad it wasn't drink. I thought it 
was terrible when you said that. You fooled 
me complete^ j n ^cft £ ; took my sympathy 




for nothing, for I was sorry for you and you 
hadn't earned it." 

"Well, I felt ashamed myself. That's 
why I thought — why I thought a little 
comfort and help and food might help you 
— I wish it weren't drink with you." 

" It isn't — I lied, too. It was just luck 
with me." 

" How ? " 

" Chance took me to the Embankment/' 
he said, enigmatically. 

" Ah, well ! You lied, too — so we're quits, 

" We can never be that — I owe you too 

She fetched a dainty silver cigarette-box 
and took two cigarettes from it. He lit one 
and inhaled the smoke gratefully. She 
smoked also. 

" It isn't too late ? " she asked. 

" Too late for what ? " 

" Too late to start again," she said, softly, 
watching the blue curls of the cigarette 

" Oh," he said, uneasily, " I don't know. 
You make me feel ashamed of myself." 

" I should like to help you. How can I ? " 

" You've done all you can. You have 
helped." There was something ironic in his 
voice. " I shall be able to show you to- 

" I wish you wouldn't talk like that," she 

" Like what ? " 

" There's a mocking note in your voice. 
I don't understand it. I wish I knew your 
history. I'm certain you're not used to this 

" Now, that's really clever of you. But as 
for my own life, there's nothing to tell — it's 
a record of failure, and such records are best 
left untold." 

The clock chimed. " I must be going," he 
said, rising, and buttoning up his thin coat. 

" But where ? Where can you go to? " 
she asked. 

" Oh, anyone can see you do not belong 
to the seamy side. Why, to a doss-house, 
of course." 

She opened a little chain-purse woven in 
platinum and gold, and took out two 

He drew himself up proudly for a moment. 

" Madam ! " he said, and then again that 
queer, ironic smile overcame him, and he 
almost cringed to her. " You are very kind." 
He took the hand that proffered him the 
money, and with a sudden impulse kissed it. 
She drew it away shamefacedly. 

Volxivt.-2a ' 

" You are very kind," he murmured, 
" to a poor devil of a tramp." 

He fumbled at his hat and blundered 
towards the door. 


The next day Miss Marling breakfasted 
in her pink room as usual at eleven 
o'clock, with the memory of her night's 
adventure fresh in her mind. She thought 
over some plan of assisting the unfortunate 
young man. She might see Graham, the 
manager of the theatre, and get him to give 
the man a job of some sort— door-keeper, or 
scene-shifter, perhaps. 

Later she went down to the theatre for 
the rehearsal of the new play. On her way 
there her attention was caught by a pink 
poster of the Afternoon. It flamed before 
her with an odd significance : — 
" Famous 

The thing struck her uncannily. She had 
as yet seen nobody to whom she could tell 
the story of the night before. It came as 
a shock to her. Well, well, these news- 
papers are very enterprising, but how on 
earth could the Afternoon have heard of 
the story ? Surely Nichols, the porter, was not 
in league with the newspapers ? She bought 
the paper, and there it was — a whole column 
of it. The headings told her the worst : — 

" Actress and Tramp. 

Miss Ivy Marling Plays the Good Fairy 

at Midnight. 

Embankment Romance." 

She did not know whether to be pleased 
or annoyed, until she read it, and then she 
found that the writer had woven a charming 
romance out of it. And the writer had said 
such sweet things about her, and had written 
it in such a way that much of the detail 
could only be understood by her and the 
tramp — the two persons who alone knew of 
it. It was written with such intimate know- 
ledge that it puzzled her. It was a fairy 
story in real life. There were wonderful 
human touches here and there, and as she 
read the parts about herself her ears burnt 
and prickled. 

And yet, in spite of all its pretty writing, 
an undercurrent of annoyance struggled 
beneath her feelings. Of course, she was 
an actress, with an actress's human love of 
publicity, but somehow or other this affair 
had been genuine. There really had been no 



motive of self-advertisement in her charity. 
And then again that recurring question came 
into her mind, " Who was the unknown 
writer ? " It was all told with such fidelity 
of detail that she saw at once that it could 
only have been related by the tramp himself. 
And she thought again of his sad, half- 
wistful eyes. 

Well, it was very annoying* Of course, 
she >vQuld be chaffed about it by her friends, 
and those who were not her friends would 
say, " How clever of Ivy to get such a good 
notice for herself!" That was really the 
annoying part of it. 

But when she read the article again she 
felt as if the writer were talking to her, as 
if he were saying all the things that he would 
be afraid to say in her presence. It was 
audacious, but as she read between the 
lines it seemed that the wretch was making 
love to her, with a twinkle in his eye. 

In the evening, when she returned to tea 
in her flat, there was a ring at her bell, and 
the maid brought in a card. " Harberton 
Lee," she read, and then on the corner, 
" The Wire" Of course, she knew the name 
at once. Everybody read the Wire, and 
everybody knew " Harberton Lee," the 
principal descriptive writer, who travelled 
half over the world for his paper. It belonged 
to the same proprietor as the Afternoon. 
She would be able to insist on explanations. 

" Good evening," she heard a man say, in 
a curious, half-mocking voice, and imme- 
diately she knew that the voice held familiar 
echoes for her, and she looked up at Har- 
berton Lee. 

She saw before her an immaculately- 
clothed man, tall and thin. She had con- 
fused impressions, but out of them she retained 
a striking memory of little details in his 
dress that seemed to obtrude themselves on 
her notice because of their very perfection — 
the little pearl in the black silk tie, the neat 
patent-leather boots, and the well-shaped 
hands gloved in grey, one of them holding 
a knobbed malacca cane. Then she looked at 
his face. His eyes were bright and brown and 
intelligent. His face was freshly shaven now. 
She felt a little quiver thrill all through her 
as she looked upon the tramp of the wet 
Embankment, no longer in rags, but dressed 
with all the polished splendour of prosperity. 

" Good evening," he said, coming farther 
into the room. 

He was a little uncertain of his ground. 
He smiled now, much in the way that a 

by Google 

schoolboy might who has been caught play- 
ing some prank. 

She was angry as the full truth dawned 
on her. She felt that she had been tricked 
and cheated. No words passed between 
them, but he saw the shadow of anger 
across her face. 

" I say," he said, boyishly holding out his 
hand, " I'm sorry— I didn't think " 

" Don't talk nonsense," she said. 

She turned her head away, and glanced 
at him out of the corner of her eye. He was 
very good-looking, and it was a pleasant 
relief to find that her tramp was only a fantasy 
after all. 

" I had to do something to show my 
gratitude," he said. " I really felt what I 
wrote. Why should good deeds like yours of 
yesterday remain unknown ? Why shouldn't 
I write of the beautiful, tender mercies of life ? 
Ah, now," a coaxing note came into his voice, 
" don't be cross with me, Miss Marling. How 
was I to know you wouldn't like it ? " 

11 But I do like it," she cried, with a little 
impatient gesture. " That's what annoys 
me so. I wonder that you have the imper- 
tinence to stand there smiling, when you 
know that I'm not really angry." 

At that he sighed and sat down ; took off 
his gloves and glanced wistfully at the 

" If you can tell me what you meant by it 
all, you shall have some tea. Why were you 
playing at being a beggar-man ? " 

" Why," he said, " for the same reason 
that you played a beggar-woman. Anything 
for copy, you know. I wanted to do s6me 
* specials • on the Embankment " 

The maid put the finishing touches to the 
tea-table and disappeared. 

She frowned. " You've taken away all 
the good that I thought I had done to that 
poor man." 

" Nothing of the kind. Your two sove- 
reigns gladdened the life of a real tramp. I 
met one as I danced homewards and gave them 
to him. i With Miss Marling's compliments,' 
I said. Poor man, he thought I was either a 
madman or a thief. 

" Ma'am," he said (there was a hint of the 
Irish brogue in his voice), " you took me in 
so completely on the seat that I felt a little 
revengeful. Besides, think of me only as the 
poor devil of a tramp that I am, in spite of 
these fine feathers, and be as kind to me as 
you were to him." 

" One lump or two ? " she asked, poising the 
sugar-tongs above the sugar-bowL 



i Si 



rv ■»■ „^h (^*rkruil^ Original from 





of L 


Bij O Heivru 

Illustrated fc>x| 

HEN one loves one's Art no 
service seems too hard. 

That is our premise. This 
story shall draw a conclusion 
from it, and show at the same 
time that the premise is in- 
correct. That will be a new 
thing in logic, and a feat in story-telling some- 
what older than the great wall of China. 

joe Larrahee came from the Middle West 
pulsing with a genius for pictorial art- At 
six he drew a picture of the town pump with 
a prominent citizen passing it hastily. This 
effort was framed and hung in a shop window 
by the side of the ear of corn with an uneven 
number of rows. At twenty he left for New 
York with a flowing necktie and a capital 
tied up somewhat closer, 

Delia Caruthers did things in six octa es 
so promisingly in a pine-tree village in the 

South that her relatives chipped in enough 
for her to go (t North ' and " finish." They 
could not see her . but that is our story. 

Joe and Delia met in an atelier where a 
number of art and music students had 
gathered to discuss chiaroscuro, Wagner, 
music y Rembrandt's works, pictures, Wald- 
tcufelj wall-paper, Chopin, and Oolong* 

Joe and Delia lurame enamoured one of 
the other, or each of the other, as you please, 
and in a short time were married, for {sec 
above) when one loves one's Art no service 
seems too hard, 

Mr + and Mrs, Larrabee began housekeeping 
in a flat. It was a lonesome flat, something 
like the A sharp down at the left-hand 
end of the keyboard, And they were happy, 
for they had their Art , and they had each other. 
And my advice to the rich young man would 
be, sell all thou Vi&st, and give it to the poor — 




janitor for the privilege of living in a flat 
with your ^\rt and your Delia, 

Flat-dwellers shall endorse my dictum that 
theirs is the only true happiness. If a home 
is happy, it cannot fit too close. Let the 
dresser collapse and become a billiard-table ; 
let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, 
the escritoire to a spare bedchamber, the 
washstand to an upright piano ; let the four 
walls come together, if they will, so you and 
your Delia are between. But if home be 
the other kind, let it be wide and long ; enter 
you at the Goiden Gate, hang your hat on 

very soon <jf turning out pictures that old 
gentlemen with thin side-whiskers and thick 
pocket-books would sandbag one another in 
his studio for the privilege of buying, Delia 
was to become familiar and then contemp- 
tuous with music, so that when she saw the 
orchestra seats and boxes unsold she could 
have sore throat and lobster in a private 
dining-room and refuse to go on the stage. 

But the best, in my opinion, was the home 
life in the little flat— the ardent, voluble 
chats after the day's study ; the cosy dinners 
and fresh, light breakfasts ; the interchange 


Hatteras, your cape on Cape I lorn ? and go out 
by the Labrador. 

Joe was painting in the class of the great 
M agister - you know his fame, His fees are 
high* his lessons are light — his high-lights 
have brought him renown, Delia was study- 
ing under Rosenstock — you know his repute 
as a disturber of the piano keys. 

They were mighty happy as long as their 
money lasted, So is every — but I will 
not be cynical. Their aims were very clear 
and defined. Joe was to become capable 

of ambitions — ambitions interwoven each with 
the other's or else inconsiderable— the mutual 
help and inspiration ; and — overlook my 
artlessness — stuffed olives and cheese sand- 
wiches at eleven p,m. 

But after a while Art flagged. It some- 
times does, even if some switchman doesn't 
flag it- Everything going out and nothing 
coming in T as the vulgarians say. Money was 
lacking to pay Mr. Magister and Herr Rosen- 
stock their prices. When one loves one's 
Art no service seems too hard. So Delia 



said she must give music-lessons to keep the 
chafing-dish bubbling, 

For two or three days she went out can- 
vassing for pupils. One evening she came 
home elated. 

" Joe, dear," she said, gleefully, " I've 
a pupil. And, oh, the loveliest people ! 
General — General A* B. Pinkney's daughter, 
in Seventy-first Street. Such a splendid 
house f Joe ; you ought to see the front door ! 
Byzantine, I think you would call it* And 
inside ! Oh, Joe, I never saw anything like 
it before. 

" My pupil is his daughter Clementina. 
I dearly love her already. She's a delicate 
thing — dresses always in white ! And the 
sweetest, simplest manners. Only eighteen 
years old. I'm to give three lessons a week ; 
and just think, Joe, five dollars a lesson ! 
I don't mind it a bit ; for when I get two or 
three more pupils I can resume my lessons 
with Herr Rosenstock, Now, smooth out that 
wrinkle between your brows, dear, and let's 
have a nice supper." 

" That's all right for you, Dele," said Joe, 
attacking a can of peas with a carving knife 
and a hatchet, u but how about me ? Do 
you think I*m going to let you hustle for 
wages while I philander in the regions of 
high art ? Not by the bones of Benvenuto 
Cellini ! I guess I can sell papers or lay 
cobble-stones, and bring in a dollar or two," 

Delia came and hung about his neck. 

" Joe, dear, you are silly. You must keep 
on at your studies. It is not as if I had 
quit my music and gone to work at something 
else. While I teach 1 learn, I am always 
with my music. And we can live as happily 
as millionaires on fifteen dollars a week. 
You mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magister." 

" All right," said Joe, reaching for the blue 
scalloped vegetable-dish. 1£ But I hate you 
to be giving lessons. It isn't Art. But you're 
a trump and a dear to do it.' ? 

" When one loves one's Art no service 
seems too hard/' said Delia. 

'* Magister praised the sky in that sketch 
I made in the park," said Joe. " And Tinkle 
gave me permission to hang two of them in 
his window, I may sell one if the right kind 
of a moneyed idiot sees them »" 

11 I'm sure you will," said Delia, sweetly. 
M And now let's be thankful for General 
Pinkney and his roast veal." 

During all of the next week the Larrabees 
had an early breakfast. Joe was enthu- 
siastic about some morning effect sketches 
he was doing in Central Park, and Delia 
packed him off breakfasted, coddled, praised, 
and kissed at seven o'clock. Art is an 
engaging mistress. It was usually seven 
o'clock when he returned in the evening. 

At the end of the week Delia, sweetly proud 
but languid, triumphantly tossed three five- 
dollar bills on the eight-by-ten (inches) centre 
table of the eight-by-ten (feet) flat parlour. 




>8 5 


" Sometimes/* she said, a little wearily, 
" Clementina tries me, I'm afraid she doesn't 
practise enough, arid I have to tell her the 
same things so often. And then she always 
dresses entirely in white, and that does get 
monotonous. But General Pinkney is the 
dearest old man ! I wish you could know him, 
Joe* He comes in sometimes when I am 
with Clementina at the piano — he is a 
widower, you know — and stands there pull- 
ing his white goatee. * And how are the 
semiquavers and the demi-semiquavers pro- 
gressing ? 3 he always asks. 

" I wish you could see the wainscoting in 
that drawing-room, Joe ! And those Astra- 
khan rug portieres. And Clementina has such 
a funny little cough, I hope she is stronger 
than she looks. Oh, I really am getting 
attached to her ; she is so gentle and high 
bred. General Pinkney's brother was once 
Minister to Bolivia." 

And then Joe, with the air of a Monte 
Cristo, drew forth a ten, a five, a two, and 
a one — ail legal tender notes — and laid them 
beside Delia's earnings, 

" Sold that water-colour of the obelisk to 
a man from Peoria/' he announced , over- 

" Don't joke with me/' said Delia* "Not 
from Peoria 1 " 

*' All the way, I wish you could see him, 
Dele. Fat man with a woollen muffler and 
a quill tooth-pick. He saw the sketch in 
Tinkle's window, and thought it was a wind- 
mill at first. He was game, though, and 
bought it, anyhow, He ordered another — 
an oil sketch of the Lackawanna station — 

Digitized by V.1OOQ IC 

to take back with him. Music-lessons ! 
Oh, I guess Art is still in it," 

11 I'm so glad you've kept on," said Delia, 
heartily, " You're bound to win, dear. 
Thirty-three dollars ! We never had so much 
to spend before. We'll have oysters to- 

" And filet mignon with champignons/' 
said Joe* * ( Where is the olive fork ? " 

On the next Saturday evening Joe reached 
home first. He spread his eighteen dollars 
on the parlour table and washed what seemed 
to be a great deal of dark paint from his hands. 

Half an hour later Delia arrived, her right 
hand tied up in a shapeless bundle of wraps 
and bandages. 

" How is this ? " asked Jot, after the usual 

Delia laughed, but not very joyously. 

4 * Clementina/' she explained, " insisted 
upon a Welsh rabbit after her lesson. She 
is such a queer gifh Welsh rabbits at five 
in the afternoon. The General was there. 
You should have seen him run for the chafing- 
dish, Joe, just as if there wasn't a servant in 
the house. I know Clementina isn't in good 
health ; she is so nervous. In serving the 
rabbit she spilled a great lot of it, boiling hot, 
over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, 
Joe. And the dear girl was so sorry i But 
General Pinkney! — Joe, that old man nearly 
went distracted. He rushed downstairs and 
sent somebody — they said the furnace man 
or somebody in the basement — out to a 
chemist for some oil and things to bind it up 
with. It doesn't hurt so much now," 

" What's tte ? " asked Joe, taking the 


1 8* 


hand tenderly and pulling 
at some white strands 
beneath the bandages, 

" It's something soft/' 
said Delia, il that had oil 
on it. Oh, Joe , did you 
sell another sketch ? " 

She had seen the money 
on the table. 

"Did I?" said Joe. 
" Just ask the man from 
Peoria. He got his station 
to-day, and he isn't sure, 
but he thinks he wants 
another park scape and a 
view on the Hudson. What 
time this afternoon did 
you burn your hand, 
Dele ? " 

* l Five o'clock, 1 think/' 
said Delia, plaintively. 
14 The iron— I mean the 
rabbit came off the fire 
about that time. You 
ought to have seen General 
Pinkney, Joe, when ri 

H Sit down here u 
moment; Dele," said Joe, 
He drew her to the couch, 
sat beside her, and put his 
arm across her shoulders. 

" What have you been 
doing for the last two 
weeks, Dele ? " he asked. 

She braved it for a 
moment or two with an 
eye full of love and stul>- 
hornness, and murmured 
a phrase or two vaguely 
of General Pinkney; but 
at length down w h ent her 
head and out came the 
truth and tears. 

* A I couldn't get any 
pupils/ 1 she confessed. 
" And I couldn't bear to 
have you give up your 
lessons, and I got a place 
ironing shirts in that big 
Twenty - fourth Street 
laundry. And I think I 
did very well to make up 
both General Pinkney and 
Uementina, don't you, 
Joe ? And when a girl in 
the laundry set down a 
hot iron on mv hand this 

afternoon I was all the 
way home making up that 
story about the Welsh 
rabbit. You're not angry, 
are you, Joe ? And it I 
hadn't got the work you 
mightn't have sold your 




sketches to that man 
from Peoria S* 

"Hi 1 wasn't from 
Peoria /' said Joe, slowly. 

IS Well, it doesn't matter 
where he was from. How 
clever you are, Joe — and 
—kiss me, Joe — and what 
made you ever suspect 
that I wasn't giving music- 
lessons to Clementina ? " 

M I didn't," said Joe, 
u until to-night , And I 
wouldn't have then, only 
I sent up this cotton- 
waste and oil from the 
engine-room this after- 
noon for a girl upstairs 
who had her hand burned 
with a smoothing - iron. 
I've been firing the engine 
in that laundry for the 
last two weeks." 

" And then you didn't 

lt My purchaser from 
Peona/* said Joe, " and 
(imi i il Pinkney are both 
creations of the same art. 
But you wouldn't call it 
either painting or music." 

And then they both 
laughed, and Joe began:™ 

11 When one loves ones 
Art no service seems — -" 

But Delia stopped him 
with her hand on his lips, 

(< No/' she said, M just 
* When one loves, 1 " 



Original from 

© Bri3e 
of Danger 





Is she the finest 
round athlete of 



sex ? — or can we find 
her match in thia country ? 

[In the following interview Mile. Marvingt, whom the French people call H * The Bride of Danger/' and 
whom they claim to be the greatest lady athlete in the world, gives, in modest and most interesting fashion, 
her own account of the feats which have obtained her that title. Her record in so many and such various 
branches of athletics is one of which any nation may be proud indeed. But is it true that among the girls 
of this country she need fear no rival? Surely there must be many such. Can any reader send us news of one?j 

RENTHWOMEN have the 
honour of counting among 
their number one who, they 
say, has the right to claim 
the title of " the finest sports- 
woman in the world/' Mile* 
Marie Marvingt. 
Indeed, the sporting life of Mile. Marvingt 
is of a most extraordinary kind. Swimming, 
cycling, mountain-climbing, ballooning, flying, 
riding, gymnastics, athletics, fencing — there 
is not a single sport in which she does not 
shine. Where coolness, courage, and skill 
are required, in the aerodrome, on the 
mountains, in the sea ? in the fencing-school, 
she is always to be seen in the front rank. 

Not only is she expert with the foils and 
with the sword, but she is a first-rate shot. 
In 190 7 9 at the International Shooting Com- 
petition, she carried off the first prize at 

Vol. *lvi.-24. 

a range of three hundred metres. On the 
same occasion she also won the first prize 
for shooting with the Flobert carbine. 

Three years ago, on March 15th, 1910, the 
Academy of Sport honoured her by decreeing 
her, as a singular and most exceptional 
mark of esteem, the Large Gold Medal for 
distinguished skill. 

Mile. Marvingt lives at Nancy, and it was 
there that the following interview took place. 

" What led me to take up sport as I have 
done ? " said she, smiling. " Well, many 
things— education, circumstances, personal 
tastes, a great fancy which I have alwavs 
had for strife and struggle and for a spice 
of danger. When I was quite a little girl 
my father used to take me ahout with him 
during his vacation, and made me the con- 
stant companion of his mountain climbs and 

^^mwffivtikmSF' Nothing 




could give me greater delight than to accompany him 
in this way, 

(f During e%*ery year several large circuses visited 
our town- Every performance found me sitting in the 
front row, with my 
eyes sparkling as I 
applauded the 
prowess of the acro- 
bats and the riders. 
Those supple young 
girls who seemed to 
fly rather than leap 
through the air, or 

to be carried on one 
toe , poised with grace 
and skill upon the 
horse's back as on a 
p e d e s t a 1— h o w I 
envied them and 
drtiamed o." them ! 
One day I begged my 
father to send me 
to the circus to take 
lessons, and — he was 
so good to me — he 
agreed. Every day, 
among the empty 
benches j I 
the secrets 
of the 
flight and 
the somer- 

waters of 





when summer came, the clear 
the Moselle attracted me, and 
I was only a tiny tot when I began to 
bathe and swim, One day at Mctz I was 
nearly drowned. I was only five years old, 
but I remember it as if it were yesterday, 

yet I did not feel any 
fear of the water in con- 

f 'I hardly like to 
speak of my successes; 
it seems so vain* Hut 
since I am being inter- 
viewed, well , I suppose 
I must tell you all about 
" In 1907, in the ten-mile swimming races 
in Paris, on July 23rd, I was able to beat the 
record made by Miss Kellermann, at her first 
trial, of five hours ten minutes, for I covered 
the track in four hours eight minutes. In 
the following year I won the first prize for 
swimming at Toulouse. I have also to my 
credit the match at the lake of Gerardmer 
and the one at Pallanza in the Borromean 
Islands in two hours and three-quarters. 
The latter match took place at night, in quite 
unforeseen circumstances. Hie colonel of an 
Italian regiment stationed in this town heard 
of my project, and ordered out a number of 
gondolas, bearing the regimental band, to 
accompany me, and I shall never forget this 
swim on an enchanted lake under a clear moon, 
to the strains of inspiring music, both of the 
waves and of the military hand. 

*• I heard another kind of music in the Gulf 
of Naples during the thirteen miles which 
it took me to cross from Lapri to the Italian 
shore. For three days a great storm had 
prevented boats from entering the Grotte 
d'Azur in Capri . All tourists were kept back, 
and 1 grew tired of waiting. In spitL 1 of the 
terror of my Italian guide, I plunged into the 
Gulf and made my way to the mysterious 
hollow of the Grotte d'Azur, 
i; I was always cra>v about aquatic sports; 

they mnM mMm t,ie muscles 



^Voui a F f fwtovruph frv Jfrnnpfn 

into strength and grace. In 1905 I carried off 
the first prize fur sculling in a standing 

£t I was very young, too, when I took to 
cycling. At that time the high bicycle was 
in fashion. You remember it ? A huge 
wheel on which one liad to perch was the 
earliest form of bicycle which 1 remember. 
The first time I saw this wonderful machine 
pass through the streets of Nancy amid the 
wonder of the crowd, I was fascinated, 
I was, I believe, the first Frenchwoman to 
mount that long-disused machine. But on 
the newer form of the safety bicycle I have 
some small trips to my credit," 

Amongst Mile. Marvingt's " small trips " 
we may count that from Nancy to Milan , 
from Nancy to Toulouse, from Nancy to 
Bordeaux, and in 1908 the tour of France, 

a terrible task for even the most expert 
cyclists, covering more than one thousand 
miles at an average of over a hundred miles 
per day. 

For this intrepid young woman, who can 
stand everything except idleness, every 
season is a season for sport. When winter 
comes and the motor-car and the bicycle 
have to be put away in the garage, and the 
canoe and the skiff are stored away in the 
boathouse, Mile, Marvmgt looks over her 
skates and skis, and sets off for the kingdom 
of snow to challenge the fair English and 
Americans on the white tracks of the Alps 
and the Vosges. The celebrated Swedish pro- 
fessor Durban-Hansen looks on her as one 
of his best pupils. For three years running, 
at Chamonix in 1908, at Gerardmer in 1909, 
at the Ballon d' Alsace in 1910. Mile. Marvingt 





carried off the first prizes for ski-running, 
sleighing, and skating. On January 26th of 
the same year at Chamonix she added to her 
trophies the first Ladies' International bob* 
sleigh championship, the Leon Auscher Cup. 
Finally, she was the first woman to ascend the 
Buet, Balme, and Voza heights on skis. 

c * Yes/' said she, *' I am passionately fond 
of mountains, but I prefer them in summer. 
Then the mountain scenery is divine. One 
of the best guides in Chamonix, Camille 
Ravanel, showed me the beauty of the moun- 
tains nine years ago, when I first began to 
climb Mont B!anc f and then I fully understood 
the pure joy which the mountain scenery 

Prum « J'h'ttoyrnfth bv Rol. 

affords to those who care to try the risks of 
the ascent, 

" I realized the attraction of those white 
peaks, which seemed to call, to challenge us 
to explore their mysteries. They sparkle in 
the red, pink, and purple glow of the sun, 
under the broad blue sky, and we feel that 
we must go up j we cannot stay below on 
the prosaic earth. We must obey the call of 
the peaks, to climb them, surmounting all 
the hidden dangers of the way. And when 
each successive danger is overcome, what 
joy, what triumph ! On one occasion, as 
Camille, the guide, Simond, the porter, and 
I were steadily climbing the great irregular 
walls of rock, all at once there was u noise 

like thunder breaking the breathless silence 
of the Alps. Camilie looked up and shouted, 
* Turn, to the right ; lie down flat ; I ? An 
avalanche of stones came pouring down the 
mountain-side, I had just time to dash under 
a projecting cliff and lie down in the hollow 
at its foot among the snow-drifts, I assure 
you that 1 had the sensation of being brushed 
by the wing of Death as the great stones came 
whizzing past us with a deafening noise. 
We crept out of our hiding-place, shivering 
a little, and, in accordance with the custom 
of the mountains, w + e silently shook hands,'' 
There is hardly a mountain peak whereon 
Mile. Marvingt has not planted her conquering 
alpenstock — the Giant's Tooth, 
Monte Rosa, the Shark's Tooth, 
the Red Needles, the Wetter- 
horn and the Monk's Needle, 
the Tacul, the Jungfrau, and 
many others. Some of these 
ascents, which dismay the most 
experienced mountaineers, have 
taken seventeen hours to ac- 
complish. She is the only woman 
w h ho has climbed in a single day 
the Grands Omrrnoz and the 
Grepon Pass ? with the guides 
of the Payot family, of 

Such achievements are not 
attained without a record of 
most interesting impressions, 
and I asked Mile. Marvingt to 
give me some of her experiences. 
"Willingly," replied she. 
" For one thing, when I was 
climbing the Grepon, I was 
nearly crushed to death by a 
block of stone which must have 
weighed several tons, and which 
, must have surely awaited my 
arrival to choose that moment 
to separate itself from the side of the pass, 
When I did get to the top I w r as nearly 
blown away by the most terrible thunder- 
storm w : hich 1 have ever seen even in the 
Alps, and Alpine thunderstorms are some- 
thing to remember. 

" When I was climbing the Giant's Needle, 
my guides and I were overtaken by a dense 
snowstorm , and we wandered for seven long 
hours along the glacier without knowing where 
we were. Another time, when we were climb- 
ing the Needle, one of the members of a 
neighbouring party slipped and brought his 
guides down with him. Nothing could have 
saved them from going over the precipice 
if it had nftriB««lfeeiT£he lucky accident 




of the hook of the rope 
catching in a rock. I have- 
also had the agreeable 
experience of bein^ nearly 
roasted alive when climb- 
ing Vesuvius during an 

11 These impressions arc 
very vivid , I assure you, 
and there is a pleasure in 
looking back on them. 
But what I owe most, 
perhaps, to the mountains 

is that they gave me the 
keen ambition to go 
beyond them, and to 
explore the air as well as 
the earth. I first went 
up in a balloon with the 
aeronauts B 1 a n c h e t, 
Bachelard, and Barbotte, 
and afterwards I oh* 
tained a pilot's licence 
from the Aero Club of 
various sports and PASTiMBs— BiL- t ™ Last and from the 
_ i.iards, tennis, skating, CUMBJN&.. Aero I lub of France, In 

FrMftalmy^*i,g UM, Hrawr>artQl\£ 3QI0 I luul the gf£at 





pleasure of carrying off the first prize in the 
long-distance competition of the Aero Club 
of the East j by going from Nancy to Neuf- 
ChSteau ; in Belgium , in fifteen hours. In the 
same year, in the competition for the first 
prize of the Aero Club, I went from Paris to 
Rondefontaine, From Nanry I went in my 
balloon to Karlsruhe and the long trip to 
Landau. In spite of my affection for the 
monoplane 1 . I have not quite deserted the 
balloon, for last year, 1912, 1 went up fourteen 
times, including a trip from Paris to Brussels 
and from Paris to Mars-le-Tour, At various 
times I have enabled thirty-six passengers 
to experience the delights of a balloon 

" But the most dramatic episode of my 
life as an aeronaut was my trip from Nancy 
to South wold j in England, over six hundred 
miles, one hundred and fifty of which were 
over the North Sea, You shall hear the 
circumstances of this trip. 

" Mr. Gamier and I had started on the 
* Flying Star ' in beautiful weather. About 
noon our L golden ball n crossed the silver 
ribbon, the Moselle, and we passed over 
Gravelotte and 
St. Privat, 
reaching D i e 
Kirch about 
five o'clock. At 
a quarter -past 
six, at Aix-la- 
(hapelle, night 
fell, and we 
turned on our 
electric lamp. 
Cries of * A 
balloon ! ' came 
to tr& from the 
town below, 

u We crossed 
the Rhine and 
the Lippe, and 
then things 
began to go 
wron g. T h e 
wind freshened 
rapidly, and we 
were swept furi- 
ously towards 
Enchede, in 
Holland. I was just about to try a forced 
descent, when the current changed com- 
pletely and a contrary wind seized us + The 
compass pointed to the west* I said to my 
companion , ' We must cross the North Sea.' 
I was used to this district, and 1 knew that 
when the wind blew direct from 

Ft irtpi u f l h*ttt*Qrvfh ty L*Ah. 


a storm, there was no avoiding the direct 
crossing to England. 

"We dashed over the Zuyder Zee* at a 
terrific speed, seeing the lights of Amsterdam 
glitter (ar below. We embarked over the 
North Sea with ten hags of ballast. All went 
well until nine o'clock, and then came another 
change. The temperature fell, the cords of 
the car were covered with ice, and the snow- 
beat into our faces, making us shiver in spite 
of our furs, The balloon descended to about 
fifteen yards from the sea, in which our 
guide-rope trailed. Four times we threw out 
ballast, and rose, only to fall again towards 
the sea, which seemed to be roaring hungrily 
to engulf us, The storm was terrific. 

u At last we had only one bag of ballast, 
and our anchor. These were flung over- 
board, and we made our list ascent towards 
the moon, which just then emerged from 
behind the clouds. Again we descended 
towards the moaning waves, along which our 
guide-rope dragged a long furrow behind us. 
We crouched down in the bottom of the car, 
holding on to the ropes, and every instant 
awaiting the chill plunge into the sea. A huge 
wave broke over us ? causing the wicker of 
the car to creak as the water swept through 

it and over us. 
The volume of 
water made the 
car tip over in 
front, and 
almost involun- 
tarily we threw 
ourselves back 
to re-establish 
the equilibrium. 
For more than 
an hour we 
sailed, as it 
were, through 
the very waves, 
which broke our 
barometer and 
carried off all 
our small pro- 
pert y, beating 
us to and fro 
and dashing us 
cruelly against 
the sides of the 
car. A sort of shadow seemed to pass by 
us rapidly. It was a sailing-ship, and the 
crew uttered cries of astonishment as our 
balloon was swept rapidly past them. Far 
off, we saw the lights of a steamer ; then all 
was dark again, 
41 All at or©ri^iPfirltfpiiTitar seemed to rise 




From a Photograph by ImOl 

on the horizon. We were 

racing at the rate of seventy 

miles an hour, and now we 

could distinctly see a quay. It 

seemed as though we were 

fated to be dashed to pieces 

against the coast, but a sudden 

blast of wind lifted us high in 

the air and carried us over firm 

land. But how were we to 

descend ? I opened the valve, 

but the sea- water had made it 

stiff, and the cord was frozen. 

As I pulled with all my might the 

bottom of the car struck a tree, 

turned over, and I fell out into a 

thick broom-bush, while the balloon, 

released from my weighty dashed 

up again , carrying my companion. 

I was stiff with cold and fatigue, 

but I did rny best to run after the 

fugitive balloon through a pelting 

rain, now stumbling into pools of 

water, now slipping on the icy 

ground* At last I came to a light, 

a house, and three charming English 

ladies ran out to meet nnc. It was 

only at ha If -past five o'clock in the morning, 

after that terrible night, that my companion 

found me. He was as anxious about me as 

From a PUutoffraph by Luih, 

I was about him, and he told 
me how the balloon had been 
caught in a tree, so that he 
was able to climb down. To 
give you an idea of the speed 
with which we crossed the 
North Sea, I must tell you that 
we covered in five hours the 
distance which the steamers 
from Holland to England can- 
not do in less than eleven 

I could not help thinking as 
I listened that it was not with- 
out reason that Mile. Marvingt 
had been christened by her 
admirers M The Bride of 

II 1 am not afraid of my 
bridegroom/* said she, laugh- 
ing, " as you may imagine/* 
She added, " I have known 
danger from my childhood, and 
it is a case in which familiarity 
breeds, if not contempt, at 
least indifference, Eight years 
ago, in Havre, I was nearly 

drowned. In London, when I was bicycling, 
a cab knocked me down in Westminster and 
went over :rciv back. At Brest a thief tried to 


from a PhotoffmtA ! y Lutk, 



knock my brains out in order to rob me. 
He was rather taken aback by his reception, 
for i have learned both boxing and ju-jitsu* 
In St, Etienne I came down with my mono- 
plane into a party playing bowls, to their 
great astonishment. Last year I was flying 
high in the air above Chateau -Thierry when 
part of the monoplane caught fire. I extin- 
guished it almost by a miracle, otherwise I 
should have had a fall to death of over half 
a mile, 

" I have been told that I shall one dav 
end my life by an accident. I fully expect it H 
and do not fear 
it. When I am 
going to attempt 
anything especi- 
ally dangerous, I 
set all my affairs 
in order. I shall 
never forget the 
surprise of ah 
undertaker on 
whom I called one 
day in a large 
town where I 
went to attend a 
sporting fixture, 
when I explained 
that I had come 
to make all in- 
quiries respecting 
my own prospec- 
tive funeral ! 

" And now, to 
save you the 
trouble of asking 
any more ques- 
tions, I will tell 
you my future 
plans, For a lonjj 
time past I have 
been a trained 
and certificated 
nurse of the Red 
Cross Order, and 
I am most in- 
terested in 
hospital work. 
Now, what I 
want to do is to 
place the aero 
plane at the ser- 
vice of wounded 
soldiers* I would 
have a Deper- 
dussin mono- 
plane to carry 
three, worked bv 

a one-hundred -horse- power Gnome motor 
and fitted with wireless telegraphy apparatus. 
It would not be used to carry the wounded 
men t but to find them, to give information 
to the doctors, and to bring supplies to the 
ambulance stations. I have fixed on a very 
suitable type of machine for this purpose, 
which would carry all that is necessary. 
I would call it after my unfortunate comrade 
in aviation, l Captain Echemen/ and I 
intend to make a tour through France to 
find the proper mode of having it built. 
I shall collect the required parts in one or 

another school 
of design , and 
thus carry out 
my great project, 
the composition 
of a new aero- 
plane to succour 
the wounded 
soldiers of 

Great as is 
the devotion to 
sport of this 
daughter of our 
time, it is by no 
means the only 
distinction with 
which Nature has 
dowered her. 
She has studied 
medicine and law, 
singing and elo- 
c u t i o n. She 
speaks four lan- 
guages, writes, 
carves in marble, 
paints* and is a 
capable actress. 
What an ex- 
ample for all 
women is this 
young French 
1 a d %% whose 
passion for sport 
and whose ac- 
complish men ts 
only emphasize 
in her the two 
great natural 
which inspire 
her — the love 




Frvm a rh»iogrtifA. good [ 






HE egg was so small as to 
suggest that the hen had laid 
it with a grudge ; but what 
it lacked in size it made up 
for in flavour, and after the 
first morsel Mr. Timothy Wells 
removed it from his plate 
and set it down behind the tea-cosy. 

" Ah ! " he murmured sadly. 

Mr. Timothy Wells was often sad, but 
never angry. People like him do not get on 
in this world. 

He proceeded to breakfast on tough toast 
and stale butter, washed down with tea whose 
weakness hinted at exhaustion rather than 
insufficient infusion. 

The clock on the mantelpiece wheezed ten 
times, thereby informing Mr. Wells that the 
hour was nine-fifteen. He lit a cigarette — 
his sole extravagance — and transferred him- 
self to the alleged easy-chair at the side of 
the ugly hearth. He had five minutes' 
leisure before it would be necessary to put 
on his boots and go forth to the City. 

As he sat there smoking and apparently 
deeply interested in the dull fire, he provided 
the central subject for a picture to be called 
" Middle Age and Failure. " Yet his years 
did not exceed five-and-thirty, and he was 
the owner of a business which, while it 
did not entitle him to be regarded as a 
wealthy man, had supplied him during the 
past decade with a more than merely com- 
fortable annual income. No, it was not just 
Time that had laid the grey on his hair, the 
lines on his clean-shaven countenance ; 
neither was it business worry in the ordinary 
sense. His eyes, brown and luminous, eager, 
strangely clear under the tired lids, betrayed 
something of the truth. They seemed to 
be searching for hope in a wilderness of 

VoL xlvi.-25. 

by LiOOgle 

Ifj£t&£na£&cl Bu 

The cheap cigarette began to taste rank, 
and he threw it into the fire and picked up 
one of his badly-brushed boots. Just then, 
without warning, the door was opened and 
the landlady's voice announced : — 

" A lady wants to see you." 

Along with the words the visitor entered, 
a handsome woman in handsome furs. As 
the door closed her dark eyebrows were raised, 
her delicate nostrils sniffed in audible disgust. 

" Really, Timothy ! " she exclaimed. 
" Really ! " 

Timothy had risen. His smile was kind, 
but rather piteous. The only ladies who 
ever visited him were his three sisters, and 
they did not come out of love. The present 
visitor was Mirabel, his eldest sister. You 
would have perceived a strong family resem- 
blance between the two ; they had the same 
fine features, but compared with the man's 
the woman's face looked as though it had 
undergone some subtle hardening process. 

" Good morning, Mirabel," he said, taking 
the perfectly-gloved hand. " Glad to see 
you. Have this chair. Cold, isn't it ? 
Hope there's nothing wrong ? " The last 
sentence had become a formula with him. 

Apparently she did not hear him. " Really, 
Timothy," she said, " you go from bad to 
worse in your choice of lodgings. This is the 
worst yet. And what a horrible creature 
your landlady is ! Why don't you go in for 
decent rooms ? " She sank into the chair he 
had placed for her. " Or even an hotel. It's 
so absurd of you to live like this. One would 
say you were getting into miserly habits. 
And with such a splendid business, too ! " 

Timothy had seated himself and was light- 
ing a fresh cigarette. " All well at home, 
Mirabel ? " he inquired, mildly. 

" Oh, yes. The kiddies have the usual 
November colds, but they're better now. 
Harold is all fight, but rather crusty. This 




horrid weather, I suppose. I thought I'd try 
to catch you, Timothy, before you left for 
the City, though when I saw the locality you 
were living in I almost wished I had gone to 
your office.' ' 

" The locality doesn't worry me much," 
said Timothy, quietly. 

" That's the worst of it," was her prompt 
retort. She laughed, forcedly, perhaps. " It's 
really dreadful to have a wealthy brother 
who pigs it in this fashion. I must look around 
and find you decent rooms, my dear." 

" Thank you, Mirabel. But— I'm not the 
rich man you persist in taking me to be." 

" Rubbish ! " she said, lightly. " And it's 
rather mean of you to begin to talk like that 
just when I was going to ask a small favour 
of you, Timothy." 

Something within the man winced. He 
preferred a direct request to a playful hint, 
but the latter was his sister's way, and he 
ought to have been used to it by now. 

" What can I do for you, Mirabel ? " he 
asked, knowing what the answer would be. 

" Now, please don't look like an old bear 
with a sore head ! Your poor sister only wants 
a little loan. Harold says things are rather 
tight just now, whatever that means, but 
there's a good time coming, and then you'll 
get back all you've lent us. Harold would have 
come to see you himself, only he's so sensi- 
tive, poor man. You know how sensitive he 
is, Timothy." 

In the past Timothy had known Harold as 
a good-looking young giant with a blonde 
moustache and a high colour, a fund of con- 
versation on sporting matters, and a generous 
habit of offering the merest acquaintances 
cigars and whiskies and sodas ; but somehow 
he had not observed his sensitiveness. 

" And I'm quite sure this is the last time I 
shall ever bother you," Mirabel added, by 
way of encouragement. 

Now was Timothy's time to remind his 
sister that for years she and her husband 
had been draining his resources to the tune 
of at least three hundred pounds per annum ; 
to suggest that she and her husband ought 
to cut their extravagance and live within 
their income, which was by no means a 
beggarly one ; and to inform her that she was 
not the only member of the Wells family who 
had consistently borrowed from him ever 
since he had had any money to lend. But 
Timothy did none of these things. He had 
been " soft " too long. 

" How much do you and Harold require ? " 
he said, without keeping her in suspense. 

It was on Mirabel's tongue to say " Forty," 

but the word that left her lips was " Fifty " ; 
and then, seeing how little moved he was, she 
wished she had said " A hundred." 

" Very well," he replied, suppressing a 
sigh, " I'll send you a cheque when I get to 
the office. But please let this be the last, 

She was used to the phrase. " Rather ! " 
she said, and, getting up, crossed the hearth- 
rug and kissed him on the forehead. u You're 
a dear, good brother, and I'm fearfully obliged 
to you." 

" That's all right," he returned, smiling 
faintly. "I'm glad I can do it — this 

He saw her to her cab, and then returned 
to the parlour to don his boots. 

After all, Mirabel tried him less than her 

It must not be supposed, however, that his 
brothers-in-law always left these interviews 
to their wives. They took their turns, and 
Timothy " forked out " just the same. The 
years passed, and it never seemed to occur to 
the bachelor that a refusal might be good for 
every one concerned, that his help would 
gradually come to be taken for granted, 
that his weakness was simply making parasites 
of his relations. Nor did the borrowers reflect 
that their importunacy might carry them 
too far. With a few signs of real and grateful 
affection, and a little less superior criticism 
of his shabby mode of living, Timothy's 
eyes might have been kept blind to the end 
of the chapter ; but people are apt to become 
careless under repeated obligations, and his 
relations had at last allowed Timothy to 
gain an inkling of their utter selfishness. 
He had begun to perceive, dimly, it is true, 
the many sweet and lovely things he had 
missed, the opportunities he had sacrificed, 
the future he had mortgaged, if not lost 
altogether. And Mirabel's latest visit irritated 
as much as it depressed him. 

Yet could he ever find the will to say 
" No " to his sisters ? The question occurred 
to him on his way to the City. Suppose — 
it was most unlikely, of course — but still, 
suppose that some day he should think of 
marrying ? 


" A lady waiting to see yo*i, sir," a clerk 
announced to Timothy on his arrival, and 
Timothy's feebly-rising spirits sank back to 
zero. " This is her card." 

Timothy's spirits rebounded, then wobbled 
at the higher level, for the name on the card — 
" Miss Florence Gale " (there was no address) 




— was quite unfamiliar to him* Lady visitors the instant Timothy realized that she had 

tu the office were rare. beautiful eyes and charming colouring. 

il Does she want to sell typewriters and st Mr. Wells, is it not ? " 

things ? " he asked the clerk, who waited. The inflections of her voice were not 

"I shouldn't imagine so t sit/' English. 



" Then she must be collecting subscrip- " Yes/' he replied, shaking hands a trifle 

tions for some charity/ 1 said Timothy* awkwardly. He glanced at the card* £ You 

At his entrance a girl seated by the fire are Miss Gale ? " 

rose and turned to greet him, her hand held She boi^E|<jlg4H^t | t(l|}Dl'ft n d waited for him t;> 

out as if sure of a welcoming clasp. Within con llff|*fR5|TY0F MICHIGAN 



" Pray be seated, Miss Gale. And what 
can I do for you ? " 

For a moment or two she stared with 
wide grey eyes. Then, " Oh, dear ! " she 
cried. " So you don't know me ? " 

Timothy felt and looked uncomfortable. 

" I beg your pardon," he said at last, 
" but have we met before ? I can't imagine 
how I could possibly have forgotten." 

" No, no ; I didn't mean that. But you 
see, my uncle said he had written to you." 

" Your uncle ? " 

" Mr. John Gale, of Boston. Good gracious! 
don't you even remember him ? " 

Timothy's hand had gone to his forehead. 

" John Gale ? I seem to have heard the 

name, but And you say he wrote to 

me ? " 

" Yes, yes," rather impatiently. " Just 
before I sailed he told me he had written to 
you, and gave me your address. That's why 
I'm here. I arrived in London late last night, 
and " 

" One moment, Miss Gale." Timothy's 
hand fell from his head to a small basket of 
letters on his desk. " The letter may be 
here. Yes, here it is — Boston postmark. 
Came with the same steamer as you did, 
I suppose." He tore open the envelope, 
with its American stamp and unfamiliar 
superscription. " I suppose I need not 
apologize for reading this in your presence ? " 
he said, now more at his ease. 

" Please read it as quickly as possible," 
she returned, smiling, " and cease to regard 
me as a suspicious character. I'm so glad it 
has arrived safely." 

The letter was not long. It ran as follows : — 

" My Dear Wells, — Our correspondence 
failed many a long year ago, yet you are the 
only one of the old friends whose memory 
comes clear to me now. I write this in the 
hope that all is well with you, and to ask 
a favour. My niece, Florence Gale, who has 
been to me as a daughter since the loss of her 
parents a good many years ago, has suddenly 
made up her mind — which is no feeble one — 
to pay a flying visit to London. It is per- 
fectly impossible for me to accompany her, 
and she stoutly refuses to accept any other 
travelling companion. Well, she is of age, 
and is quite independent of me so far as 
money is concerned. Knowing her as I do, 
I have little anxiety on her account, and that 
little is practically removed by the thought 
of you. She will call upon you on her arrival, 
and I am sure you will extend to her all 
the help and advice she may require. She 
will not remain more than ten days on your 

side. On her return she will give me the 
best news, I trust, of you and yours. Is 
there no chance of your paying us a visit, 
old friend ? Alas ! how the years have 
flown. — Cordially yours, John Gale. 

" P.S. — Please cable me as soon as Florence 
reaches you." 

Having finished reading the letter, Timothy 
continued to gaze at it with wrinkled brows. 

" Well ? " said Miss Gale, softly. " Is not 
my certificate in order ? " 

Timothy's countenance relaxed. A smile 
dawned in his eyes. " I am very glad to see 
you, Miss Gale," he said, seating himself, 
" and glad to welcome you in my father's 
name. My father died many years ago. 
Your uncle's letter is written to him. I didn't 
notice that at once, because I happen to bear 
the same name as my father. Now I recol- 
lect my father's mentioning a Mr. Gale — a 
very old friend who had gone abroad. It is 
possible that, as a lad, I have met your uncle. 
In any case, I am very much at your service, 
Miss Gale. You said you arrived last night, 
I think ? " 

" Yes. I went to the Savoy Hotel, and I 
expect to stay on there. It's a lovely hotel, 
isn't it ? " 

" Y-yes,"said Timothy, a little doubtfully. 
" Did your uncle recommend it ? " 

" Oh, no. Poor Uncle John recommended 
a frightfully stuffy place — you see, he had not 
been in London for thirty years — and I 
changed my mind when I saw it, and told 
the chauffeur I wanted something bright and 


" Quite so." A brief pause. " I gather 
from your uncle's letter, Miss Gale, that you 
have no friends in London." 

" Not one," she replied, with the utmost 
cheerfulness. " That is, excepting yourself, 
Mr. Wells — if I may make so bold," she added, 
quite seriously. 

Timothy flushed slightly. There was cer- 
tainly something pleasant about this young 
woman's manner. " If you will do me so 
much honour," he corrected, gravely. " And 
now, to begin with," he proceeded, " I must 
inform my sisters that you are here. I have 
three sisters, Miss Gale, younger than myself, 
and married. They will do what they can 
to make your visit to London enjoyable, and 
I am sure Mirabel will be delighted that you 
should stay " 

" Mr. W 7 ells ! " she interrupted, gently. 

" Yes ? " 

" Mr. Wells, will you promise not to be 
offended ? " ~ . 

"Offended? Why' WTBourse not I You 



wish me to 'phone to Mirabel at once ? " He 
turned to the telephone at his elbow. 

" No, no." She took a good grip of her 
courage. " Mr. Wells, does Uncle John's 
letter mention how long I am to be staying in 
London ? " 

" Not more than ten days, it says. But 
possibly you may extend " 

She shook her head. " One can't do very 
much with London in ten days, can one ? " 

" Not a great deal. Still " 

" But I want to do the utmost possible." 

" Certainly* I'll make that clear to my 
sisters " 

" Please, no ! " For an instant the grey 
eyes danced, then became demure. "Mr. 
Wells, I'm not ungrateful, and I don't mean 
to be rude, but I'm going to be quite frank. 
I'd rather not be introduced to anybody. I 
called on you to please my uncle. Don't 
misunderstand me," she went on, quickly, at 
the sight of his crestfallen look. " I'm glad 
I called, for I feel I have one friend in this 
great London. But one friend is all I want. 
You see, I have not come all the way from 
Boston just to make a few temporary acquain- 
tances, who would probably consider me a 
nuisance, and I can get plenty of tea-parties 
and so on at home." She paused. 

" Dear me ! " said Timothy, helplessly. 

" in short, Mr. Wells," she resumed, 
checking a smile, " my desire is for ten days' 
entire freedom. I shall see only the sights I 
have a fancy to see ; I shall shop just where I 
want to shop ; and— I shall dine in a different 
restaurant and go to a different theatre every 

" Good heavens ! Alone ? " 

She nodded. " You think my uncle would 
not approve ? Well, perhaps he wouldn't, 
but then he won't know anything about it 

until it is all over — that is, unless you 

But you wouldn't do that, Mr. Wells ? " 

" Miss Gale," said Timothy, desperately, 
" it's impossible ! In this part of the world 
a young lady cannot do what you propose 
doing. To go to restaurants and theatres 
without an escort " 

" Mr. Wells, I am nearly twenty-five — and 
I'll be fifty before I know where I am. For 
years I have been dreaming of doing this. 
When I'm old enough to do it more conven- 
tionally it won't be worth doing. Until now 
I have done my best to please other people. 
My aunt, who died last year, was a very diffe- 
rent person from my uncle : she permitted 
no pleasures outside of a parlour. Does not 
that explain some of my madness ? " 

" I think I understand," said Timothy, 

gently. " At your age a craving for freedom 
is natural. But now, supposing, instead of 
finding me here, you had found my father, 
as your uncle anticipated — — " 

" But I thought you were your father 
until — oh, dear ! what am I saying ? " 

" Don't worry about that," he said, with a 
somewhat rueful smile. " I take it that you 
would have expressed yourself to my father 
just as you have expressed yourself to me." 

" I came with that intention, Mr. Wells. 
I promised my uncle to call here, but I had 
just as surely promised myself that no one 
should turn me from my purpose." 

Timothy sighed. " But supposing — and I 
think it would have happened — supposing 
my father had forthwith cabled your 
uncle ? " 

" It would have greatly upset Uncle John 
and made me uncomfortable ; otherwise it 
would have been a vain thing to do, for, you 
see, Mr. Wells, my uncle could not reach this 
side until my ten days were over." She 
began to make those tiny preparations that 
with a woman presage departure. "I'm 
afraid I have been a disagreeable visitor/' she 
remarked, kindly, for his discomfiture was 
apparent. " Please don't worry about me. 
If I should find myself really at a loss I shall 
take the liberty of coming again, but do not 
let that unlikely possibility oppress you." 
Smiling, she rose and held out her hand. 
" And thank you ever so much." 

In all his life Timothy had never felt more 
helpless. But he could not let her go like 
this. He got up, looking wretche 1 

" Miss Gale, at least tell me what you intend 
doing now." 

" Now ? Qh, I'm going to have a look at 
the Tower — it's too wet for shopping. Then 
I'm going to see about seats at the theatres. 
Then " 

" Let — let me show you the Tower." 

Her hesitation was but momentary. 
" Would you ? Can you spare so much 
time, Mr. Wells ? " 

" It will give me great pleasure," he said, 
awkwardly. " But before we go I must cable 
to your uncle." He found a form on his 
desk and filled in John Gale's address, paused, 
then wrote : "Miss Gale safely arrived. — 
Wells." He handed the slip to her. " Will 
that do ? " 

" You are extravagant. Call me Florence. 
Your father would have done so, I'm sure," 
she added, calmly. 

" Florence," murmured Timothy, and 
blushed as he made the alteration. He rang 

the *##3Fi(Mr ej * ed said: 



" Get this dispatched. And — I shall be out 
until — until I come back." 

Two hours later they were lunching at 
Romano's. This had come about naturally 
enough. After all, the girl had been glad of 
his guidance at the Tower, and had evinced 
a desire for information respecting other 
" sights " of the great city wherein she was a 
stranger. When one o'clock came their con- 
versation seemed to have only begun, where- 
fore Timothy had, not without diffidence, 
proposed luncheon together, and she, with a 
veiled glance at his grey hair, had graciously 
accepted the invitation. 

Florence, in spite of her narrow up-bringing, 
had met some smarter men — smarter in 
every sense of the word than her present 
host. Yet Timothy's slowness, while it 
secretly amused her, was somehow attractive 
to her, while his undisguised anxiety on her 
behalf touched rather than irritated her. 

Towards the end of the meal the conversa- 
tion flagged. With the arrival of coffee it 
failed so far as Timothy was concerned. 
At his request the waiter had brought her 
a weekly publication called London Amuse- 
ments, and while she went over the list of 
plays with a pencil, Timothy, forgetting to 
smoke the twopenny cigarette he had ordered, 
regarded her with a curious longing in those 
brown eyes of his. 

But he got the words out at last : — 

" Miss Gale, are you going to begin to- 
night ? " 

" Yes," she smiled. " I've decided to go 
to the Shaftesbury. Unless you can recom- 
mend something better." 

" I don't even know what the present plays 
are," he said. " It is many years since I was 
in a theatre." 

" Really ? Then I'll go to the Shaftesbury 
and see Marie Tempest." 

Under the cloth Timothy's fingers were 
knit together. 

" Miss Gale, let me take you to the Shaftes- 
bury to-night. For your uncle's — for my 
own conscience's sake. Regard me as — as 
a servant if you like, but let me accompany 
you. Or let me arrange with one of my 
sisters " 

With a faint gesture of distress she stopped 

" Mr. Wells," she said, " you make it very 
difficult for me. You make me seem a most 
ungracious person." 

" I don't mean to do that," he faltered. 
" But I can't endure the idea of your going 
to those places alone. At least you will 

permit me to accompany you to the door — 
restaurant and theatre — and meet you coming 
out ? I promise not to interfere with you 
otherwise. Say you will permit that much, 
Miss Gale." 

His earnestness was too much for her. 
The frown passed from her face. 

" You are very good," she said, simply. 
" I shall be delighted to go with you to the 
theatre to-night, Mr. Wells, after you have 
dined with me at my hotel." 

Overjoyed as he was, he demurred at dining 
as her guest at the Savoy. 

" Let me take you to one of the other 
restaurants," he began. 

But she was firm. 

" I can't give away the whole of my 
independence," she declared. " Besides " 
— her eyes danced — " I am not so sure but 
that your ideas, Mr. Wells, are even less 
conventional than my own. Now," begin- 
ning to put on her gloves, " I must not keep 
you longer from your business." 

" What are you going to do this after- 
noon ? " he inquired. 

11 Shopping, since the rain has stopped." 

" Couldn't I be of any use in " 

" Oh, indeed, no ! " she cried, now openly 
amused. " But I shall promise to be back at 
the hotel before it is quite dark. And I shall 
expect you at seven." 

We need not closely follow Timothy through 
the hours of that afternoon. He returned to 
his office, where he gave all the attention he 
could to business and the rest to the clock. 
At five-thirty he was in his lodgings. He 
spent a bad half-hour over the old dress suit 
that he had thought never to wear again, 
though the worst thing about it was its 
unfashionable cut. When garbed in it he 
was by no means unpresentable. He was 
struggling with his tie when the landlady 
knocked and informed him that his chop was 
ready. To this day the landlady is prepared 
to affirm that his reply was, " Chop be 
damned ! I'm dining out." And possibly 
she had heard aright, for Mr. Wells, the next 
moment, informed himself apologetically that 
he hadn't used such a word for years. Also, 
before going out he apologized to the landlady 
and begged her to accept the chop for her 
.own use. 

Later, with considerable trepidation, he 
entered the Savoy. He feared Miss Gale 
might have regretted her invitation. But 
she came to meet him with so frank a welcome 
that he took heart. According to the Savoy 
standard her gown may have been an ordinary 



enough affair ; to Timothy it was altogether " I thought so, too, Miss Gale," he said, 

lovely. And suddenly he realized that he softly. ,„ 

had riot been so happy for many, many 

years. At dinner he became positively Next morning he was at the hotel in time 

light-hearted. to find her ready to go out. 

" Mr. Wells/' said Florence, suddenly, " I have got seats for the Waldorf, and have 


1 1 hope you don't mind my saying it, but engaged a table at the Piccadilly," he told 

I thought you were ever so much older than her, eagerly, * { Don't say I may not go with 

you really are/' you/' 

Timothv flushed a little, but he smiled " It is vecv kind fit vou," she began, and 

cheerfully, halted, 




" If you refuse," he said, with a frail smile, 
" I'll send all my sisters to call upon you. 
I have an aunt, too." 

At that she laughed, but her reply was 

" I will go with you, Mr. Wells, on con- 
dition that I pay my share." 

He looked so cornered that her heart 

" I don't mean that I insist on paying on 
the spot," she said. " But you will give me 
your word to accept my share before I go 
back to Boston." 

Timothy gave it with reluctance, admitting 
to himself that there was no other way. To 
attempt to force his entertainment on this 
girl would, he assured himself, be worse than 

" Very well, Miss Gale, it shall be as 
you wish. I am glad you permit my escort." 

" Oh, I don't mind telling you that I am 
glad to have your escort, Mr. Wells. After 
all," she laughed, " from what I noticed last 
night, I am not so bent on absolute independ- 
ence so far as theatres and restaurants are 
concerned. Isn't that a shameful admission 
after my remarks of yesterday ? " 

It is a strange fact that despite the grand 
opportunity now given him Timothy did not 
even attempt to re-introduce the subject of 
his sisters. Instead he cried, a little wildly, 
" Then may I look after you every evening ? " 

" Have not you anything else to do with 
your evenings ? " she asked, amused. 

" Nothing whatever. I'm a lonely fellow, 
as a rule. You have no idea what a pleasure 
it would be to me." 

" Perhaps," she* said,, demurely, " we had 
better leave it an open question." 

And with that he had to be content. 

" Where are you going now ? " he inquired. 

" I %m going to Kew this fine morning. 
I promised Uncle John to see the gardens." 

" I know the gardens very well indeed," 
said Timothy, all of a twitter. " Let — let me 
go with you." 

" Oh ! But your business ? " 

" It belongs to me. I don't belong to it 
— to-day, at any rate." 

Somehow she could not deny him. After 
all, his kindly companionship was better 
than solitude, and did not interfere with her 

So Timothy telephoned to his office a 
message new to his clerks : " Shall not be at 
business to-day," and they set out for Kew. 

For nigh a week Timothy lived in a state 
which may best be described as one wild thrill. 

He was like a man long blinded brought 
suddenly to behold a beautiful world. His 
days and nights were ecstasies ; he lived only 
for the present. He did not stop to ask him- 
self where he was going. He worshipped a 
goddess, and adoration so filled his soul that 
there was no room for the cravings of self. 

But on the evening of the seventh day the 
change came. It came all in a breath. 
They were sitting in the theatre, and his eyes 
had strayed — not for the first time — from 
the stage to her face. The play was a sad 
one, and there were tears in her eyes. And 
in that instant she was no more a goddess, 
but a woman — the woman he wanted to have 
near him for ever and ever. Perhaps she 
noticed some alteration in his manner as he 
bade her good-night at the hotel entrance, 
for she would make no promise for a meeting 
on the following day. Yet it was a memory 
of her eyes, rather than of her words, that he 
took home with him. " Only three days 
more," he had sighed, and she had echoed 
his words with a smile on her lips — only on 
her lips. He had perceived that much. 

That night he faced himself and his life. 
Apart altogether from the shortness of their 
acquaintance, had he the right to speak to 
her before she left London ? Timothy was 
not ignorant of his own affairs ; he knew 
exactly what he was worth. If he stopped 
giving away money he was worth at least a 
thousand pounds a year. It was not a great 
offering, but it gave him, he thought, the 
right to speak. 

He must speak ! Though the chances 
against his winning her were a million to one 
he would speak. If she could not answer him 
before she left London, he would seek her 
later in her home. It seemed to him that 
without her nothing in the world was worth 
having. Yes ; he would set his affairs in 
order, and on the last night of her stay — he 
dared not sooner — he would speak. 

The last night came quickly enough. She 
had graciously allowed him to act as host that 
evening. She was merry at dinner, merry at 
the Gaiety, which theatre she had chosen for 
her final outing. The hours slipped away 
without his finding an opening for a serious 

But as he handed her from the cab at the 
Savoy he whispered, desperately : " May I 
come in for a minute ? I have something to 
tell you." 

" No, no — not to-night," she replied, 

" To-morrow — before you go ? " 

There was no answer. A touch of her hand 




and she was gone from him. For she knew 
what he would say, yet was not quite sure of 
her answer. 

Timothy walked the long way to his 
lodgings. He was not hopeless. At the 
last moment of parting he had looked in her 

As he entered the dingy sitting-room, a 
little surprised that the gas should be burning 
full, a man rose from the easy-chair. The 
man was pale, but Timothy went paler. 

" George ! " he cried, hoarsely. Here was 
disaster ; he knew it. 

" I had to wait to see you. Been here 
since nine o'clock. Clara insisted on my 
coming to-night, though I said it would keep 
till to-morrow.' ' 

" What is it ? " Timothy's tone was new 
to his youngest brother-in-law. " Nothing 
the matter with Clara, I hope ? " 

" No," said George, sitting down again and 
fumbling with a cigarette. " Beastly sorry, 
old man, but it's the bank." 

" The bank ! " 

" Yes ; they've called up that overdraft." 

" Oh ! It was only about a hundred 
pounds the last time you spoke of it." 

11 It's up to the limit now, I'm sorry to say," 
said George, sullenly. 

" The limit ! Two thousand ! " With an 
effort Timothy got command of himself. 
" Well, of course, Henderson and I guaranteed 
that amount to the bank on your account. 
Only I thought you were clearing it off. I 
don't want to worry you, George, but I'd like 
to be relieved of that responsibility as soon 
as possible. Make an effort to wipe out your 
overdraft before May, will you ? " 

" I wish to Heaven I could," the younger 
man muttered. 

" Well, don't lose your night's sleep over 
it. Get away home, and I'll ask Henderson 
to call with me on the manager to-morrow 
and satisfy him that our guarantee is all 

" Henderson," said George, weakly, " is 
dead — yesterday — suicide — ruined himself. I 
can't find another guarantor. And I'm 
practically broke myself." 

Timothy took the nearest chair. " Oh, my 
God ! " he said, very softly. 

II I tell you I'm beastly sorry." 
Timothy apparently did not hear the 

remark. " So I'm liable for the whole 
amount — two thousand pounds — two years' 

II I thought you made more. Clara always 
said so," mumbled George. " I'm beastly — " 

" Go home ! " said Timothy, so quietly, yet 

Vol. xlvu-2U. 

so sternly, that his brother-in-law got up and 

At four o'clock in the morning Timothy 
went out to post the letter he had written to 
Florence. It was brief. Owing to a sudden 
and severe business trouble he regretted he 
would be unable to bid farewell to her on the 
morrow. He thanked her for the best days 
of his life. He wished her a safe voyage and 
happiness always, and begged leave to remain 
her sincere friend, T. Wells. 

At the pillar-box he stood awl. .e hesitating ; 
then, with a sigh and headshake, let the letter 
go. The brown eyes were not so clear now, 
but perhaps this was due to the fog that was 
descending on London. 


He reached the office two hours late. The 
fog had thickened and was greatly hindering 
traffic. It was almost dark in the office. A 
clerk stepped forward to explain that some- 
thing had gone wrong with the light, but that 
the electrician would have it going again 
almost immediately. Timothy merely nodded 
and passed on to his room, though the clerk 
sought to detain him. 

Timothy closed the door behind him, 
thankful for the darkness as well as the soli- 
tude. He took a pace forward, stopped short, 
and threw up his arms. 

" Oh, you fool ! " he said, in a whisper ; 
" you utter fool ! " 

" Mr. Wells," said a voice, in soft alarm. 

His arms fell ; he gasped. 

Dimly he saw her rising from the chair by 
the hearth. 

" Florence — Miss Gale — your train — your 
boat ! " he stammered. 

" I have lost my train," she r$turned, 
quietly. " Aren't we going to shake hands ? 
I am sorry I startled you. Didn't your 
clerk " 

He was beside her, holding her hand as 
though he would never let it go. 

" I had your letter this morning," she 
went on, withdrawing it gently. " I fear you 
have had a great misfortune." 

He went back a pace from her. 

11 Yes," he said, bitterly, " but I have only 
myself to blame, Miss Gale." 

" That makes it the harder to bear, doesn't 
it ? " Never had her voice sounded so kind 
in his ears. " It was very sudden, I think 
you said in your note ? " 

" An hour after I left you last night." 

" So — so it was not of that you — you 
wan tad to tell me last; niyht ? " 



He winced. 

" No, not that — of course, not that," 

A silence fell between them. At last he 
asked how she had come to lose her train. 
Had the fog been responsible ? 

" I think" she said, whimsically, li 1 think 
I lost it through spending too much time over 
a cable to Uncle John, saying I was coming 
with to-morrow's boat," 

He stared at her. 

"You — you deliberately lost it?" 

" Yes. You see, I found I couldn't 
decently leave the country without 
paying my debts. What do I owe you 
for theatres and so on, Mr. Wells ? " 

" Don't." 

"What do I owe you" — her voice 
was not so steady — M for your care of 
me all the time I've been here ? I 

11 l go hour!' said timothy, SO 5TKRNI.Y, that 


see very clearly now how horrid it might have 
been if I had carried out my own plan/ 1 

" I assure you," he struggled, " it was a 
great pleasure " 

** Oh, don't— don't be polite. And — how 
could 1 go away without telling you I was 
sorry about your trouble ? " 

Timothy drew a long breath and walked 
over to the window. 

u It is good of you/' he said, huskily, 
" I — I think the fog is beginning to lift," 

u Mr. Wells j I'm going to ask you an im- 
pertinent question. Does this trouble mean 
that you will lose your business ? " 

"Oh, no. But 
it means that 
I shall be a 
very poor man 
for several 

11 Dear me ! is 
that all ? " 

He turned 
almost fiercely. 

" It means also 
that I have lost 
my right to 

Her voice 
seemed to come 
from far away ; it 
just reached 

"Can't I help? 
What's the use of 
my having money 

when " 

11 Stop ! " 
He strode to- 
wards her. 

"Isn't it 
rather late to 
say 'Stop 1 ?" 
she sighed. And, 
putting her arms 
on the mantel- 
piece, she bowed 
her face upon 

He halted, re- 
garding her help- 

"Oh, Flor- 
ence/ ' he whis- 
pered , "oh, 
Florence ! " 
A rlerk knocked at the door* 
1 The light is on now, sir* Mr. Johnson 
would like to see you," 

ts Tell him/' sai'd Timothy, huskily, " tell 
him I'm engaged/' 

The clerk departed — smiling. 
From the mantelpiece came a small 
sob, a small laugh., and a very small 
voice : — 



I. — Mmc. Sarak Bernhardt. 
II. — Fatncr Bernard Vaugkan. 
III.— FieU-Marflkal Sir Evelyn Wood, V.C. 

In the following striking scries of articles a number of eminent men and 
women have consented to describe "the most impressive sight" they have 
ever seen. Their stories, as will be realized by the opening examples, will 
be of the most varied and exciting kind. On the principle of "place aux 
dames/' we commence with Mme. Sarah Bernhardt's graphic description 
of an incident she witnessed during the siege of Paris. 




Illustrated by J. E. Sutclirre. 

SIGHT I witnessed during the 
bombardment of Paris in the 
Franco-Prussian War I shall 
never forget as long as I live. 
Indeed, although many years 
have passed since thoseterrible 
days, the memory of this 
particular incident is as fresh to me as though 
it had happened but yesterday. For days 
past food had been getting scarcer and 
scarcer. Bitter cold enveloped the city, and 
the army of the enemy was daily holding the 
French capital in a still closer grip. 

Towards the end of December hope had 
been slowly fading from many a gallant heart, 
and, speaking for myself, I may say that I was 
living in the expectation of I knew not what, 
and of something, some dread thing, that 
I dare not let my mind dwell on. Every 
night I used to hear a mournful cry of 
"Ambulance! ambulance !" underneath the 
windows of the Odcon. My friends and I 
would then creep softly down the stairs to 
meet the sad procession, and to see whether 
we could possibly prove of any assistance. 

Our refuge, I need scarcely say, soon 
became full of these brave, wounded soldiers, 
who so proudly gave up their lives for the 
honour of France. At last, when our house 
was quite full, the sergeant said to me, in 

pleading tones, " Do try to take one or two 
more in." Although, as I have said, our 
house was already full of the severely wounded, 
such a request I could not refuse, and I 
replied, " Very well, I will take two more," 
for Mme. Guerard and I had our own beds, 
which we gladly gave up. 

All night long bombarding continued, until 
close on six in the morning the mournful cry 
of " Ambulance ! ambulance ! " once more 
reached our ears. Mme. Guerard and I went 
down to meet the sad procession. We 
encountered the sergeant at the door. " Take 
this man," he said. "He is losing all his 
blood, and if I take him any farther he will 
not arrive living." The new arrival proved 
to be a German, one Frantz Mayer, who said 
that he was a soldier of the Silesian Landwehr. 
As he told me his name he fainted from 
weakness caused by loss of blood. He 
soon came to, however, and I had him 
carried into a room where there was a young 
Breton suffering from a bad fracture of the 
skull. Before leaving, one of my friends, an 
excellent German linguist, approached Frantz 
Mayer's bed, and asked him in his own tongue 
whether he could do anything for him. 
" I thank you, no, sir," he replied, bravely, 
" and although I suffer much I am happy in 
the thought that Pari:; cannot hold out two 




days longer. Its defenders are already 
reduced tu eating ruts." 

Although this statement was an exaggera- 
tion, food was nevertheless becoming scarce 
in the extreme. Small morsels of decayed 

meat were fetching high prices, and the child- 
ren were going hungry to red and waking up 
still mure hungrv. It wai for their suffering, 
I think, that OiJl|ifitidt«l7tointo see those who 
cannot ^^|^^l,gf$^Wlg^M din e awa y 



for lack of food is a sight than which I can 
think of none worse. 

But I am wrong when I say that they 
could not help themselves. They did so, 
and in a way which shows the utter fearless- 
ness of danger embedded in childish minds. 
And the sight of how they managed to help 
themselves, each one carrying his or her life . 
in their hands as they did so, is one I cannot 
dwell on without a shudder — one I shall never 
forget as long as I live. 

To describe this sight it has been necessary 
for me to refer to the deplorable condition 
in which the defenders of Paris found them- 
selves. Hour after hour the bombardment 
continued, and in a space of twenty yards 
near the Od£on in one night no fewer than 
twelve bombs burst. As Mme. Gu6rard and 
I sat tremblingly watching at the window, 
I remember thinking that these messengers 
of death, as they burst in the air, were 
strangely, weirdly, horribly like fireworks at 
a fete. 

One night a young journalist came to call 
on me at the Ambulance, and I related to him 
the ghastly, terrifying splendours we had seen 
from our window. He said he, too, would like 
to see them. It would be an experience. If 
he lived he would be able to describe it, and 
thus make splendid copy for his paper. 

A few hours later we three sat at one of 
the windows which looked out towards 
Chatillon, from where came the heaviest 
bombardment of the Germans. In the silence 
of the night the muffled sound of the guns 
and the bursting of the bombs made the 
most depressing music I have ever heard. 
One bomb burst so close to my window that, 
had not we quickly drawn back our heads, 
we should surely have been killed. The shell 
fell immediately underneath, grazing the cor- 
nice, and dragging it down in its fall to the 
ground, where it burst feebly. 

" A narrow escape, indeed, madame," said 
the journalist. Scarcely had he spoken when 
from dark corners on either side of the street 

out dashed a little crowd of children, who 
swooped down on the burning pieces as do 
birds on a shower of crumbs. The pieces of 
shell were still warm and dangerous, and the 
children's action struck me as so extraordinary 
that, trembling like a leaf, I turned to my 
journalist friend, as I realized the danger of 
death the youngsters were running, and asked 
what they could possibly want with frag- 
ments of burst bombs. 

To satisfy my curiosity, and to try to 
rescue the children from further danger, the 
journalist, whose name I remember was 
Georges Boyer, dashed downstairs and dragged 
one of the urchins up to us. The others 
had fled at the sound of his footsteps. 

" What are you going to do with that, my 
little man ? " I asked, pointing to the frag- 
ment of burst shell which he held tightly in 
his two hands. " I'm going to sell it to buy 
my turn in the queue when the meat is being 
distributed," he said. " But you risk your 
life, my poor child," I said. " You should 
take shelter from the shells, and not expose 
your little body." 

" It makes no difference," said the child, 
quietly, gazing at me with eyes of wonder 
which seemed to ask why a stranger should 
take an interest in his humble welfare. "lam 
already so weak and my limbs ache so 
through want of food that I am no longer 
afraid of the wicked enemy's crackers." 
For thus he described the bombs, which 
were falling around like golf-balls on a 
crowded day on the links. 

It was all too horrible. Even now when I 
see children playing in the streets my thoughts 
often turn to that little band of starving 
youngsters who so carelessly exposed them- 
selves to the bombardment of the Germans 
in the hope that, if these dread messengers did 
not bring death to them, they might after- 
wards sell the fractured pieces of bomb for 
the price of a mouthful of food. In my life 
I have seen many impressive sights, but none 
has so engraved itself on my memory as this. 




Illustrated by Jokn de ^A^alton. 

Of all sights that I have witnessed, I cannot 
recall one which has so arrested and riveted my 
attention as the Grand Canyon of Colorado. 

Until I saw the Colorado can von, the 
canyon of Yellowstone Park had seemed to 
me the most wcnderluJ sight that I had seen. 







Both canyons are bewilderingly wonderful, 
but, curiously enough, they are in nothing 
alike. Each one has what the other has not ; 
each completes and is completed by the other. 

The Yellowstone Park canyon is wonder- 
fully fine and beautiful; the Colorado canyon 
is wonderfully grand and magnificent. And 
both strike me as symbolic of perfect wedded 
life, the perfection of what is womanly and 
of what is manly united in bonds indissoluble. 
What makes these United States canyons so 
impressive is that they are monuments of 
Nature's creative genius. They are built up 
out of ruins, out of dibris, out of erosion. 

When first you look down Yellowstone Park 
canyon and see the sunlit stream running a 
thousand feet below the plateau of eight 
thousand feet whereon you stand, you are 
in no sense moved to rapture by the foam- 
ing river. Neither is your imagination 
wrought into ecstasies by the wonderful 
setting of trees on the background of snow, 
nor with the rugged Sierras in the far, far 
distance ; but you are wholly carried away 
by the beauty of the vertical walls of the 
chasm, walls which from highest rim down 
to river bed are painted with such a delicacy, 
beauty, and fineness of finish that you almost 
want to exclaim, " Look ! Here a rainbow has 
fallen from heaven, and has been shattered 
against these rocks." 

But not even would that simile express 
quite what you feel, for you almost want to 
ask, " Have these walls been hung with 
tapestries woven in the looms of heaven ? 
Have these glories been let down to decorate 
the canyon for some such event as the birth 
of the Creator ? " 

Yes, the Yellowstone canyon is wonderfully 
beautiful ; but the Colorado chasm is far more 
wonderfully magnificent. As, some few weeks 
ago, I stood on an elevated plain and saw at 

my feet, and before me, a gorge fifteen miles 
across and stretching east and west as far as 
the eye could travel, I found myself looking 
into another world, a world untenanted and 
voiceless save for the sound of the whirling, 
whistling wind. 

Just imagine the scene. There below me, 
a mile deep and fifteen miles across, was this 
yawning gulf. There, in that immense 
depth, stood out before my bewildered and 
worshipping eyes a perfect city in which 
I could recognize every style of classic archi- 
tecture and every period of Gothic : towers, 
keeps, and turrets, domes, spires, and 
minarets, streets laid out and open spaces, 
and flights of steps to cathedral, capitol, 
castle, and encircling ramparts. . 

Nor was the scene without the life of colour 
or the play of light and shade.- Every hue 
and tint was there, and every scheme of 
treatment was depicted before my eyes. 
Nothing was wanting to make me feel how 
poor, petty, and paltry is all man's work 
when put into comparison with the wonderful 
works of God ! 

When we came away, after having seen 
the great spaces flooded with sunlight, hidden 
in mist, and swept by rain storm, I could not 
help exclaiming to a friend who was with 
me, " This to me is the last word in architec- 
ture, in painting, and in poetry." 

At Yellowstone Park my soul broke forth 
into the Magnificat. But here in the presence 
of the Grand Canyon of Colorado I felt inclined 
to intone the " Gloria in Excelsis." 

To view that canyon and to see what Nature 
had wrought in this wonderland of wonder- 
lands held me spellbound with awe, admira- 
tion, and adoration. And as I stood there 
I offered up a silent prayer to Heaven for 
sight and understanding, and for the privilege 
of being there. 





Illustrated by Ernest Prater. 

In a somewhat lengthy fighting career I can 
think of so many impressive sights I have 
seen that I find it far from an easy matter 
to select one in particular as " the most 
impressive." However, after mature con- 
sideration, I am inclined to choose an incident 

I witnessed during the bombardment of 
Sebastopol in 1855. 

The incident in question happened on the 
19th of April. On the previous day it had 
rained for twenty- four hours, and the water 
was up to the level of the platform, which 



stood a good ten inches above the ground. 
Evidently the Russians — at least, so wc 
thought at the time — had not anticipated 
a renewal of the bombardment of Sebastopol, 
during which occurred the most impressive 
sight that I have ever witnessed. We after- 
wards heard that they had run out of gun- 
cartridges, and were obliged to use infantry 
cartridges to make up charges for their guns. 
But this, of course, we did not know at 
the time. 

We got the range immediately with an 
eight-inch gun which stood in the obtuse 
angle of the battery, the right of which looked 
to the Malakoff and the left face to the Redan. 
The gun was served by the " Queen's," who 
had been in battery since October, but the 
11 Leanders," who had two thirty-two-poun- 
ders, fifty-six-hundredweight guns, were new 
to the work, and the shooting, therefore, 
was somewhat erratic. Indeed, while I was 
myself getting the range with the centre gun, 
the captain of the right-hand gun made such 
wild shots that I ordered him to " cease 
firing," when No. 3, the " loader," Able 
Seaman Michael Hardy, asked me if the gun's 
crew might " change rounds," and that he 
might be No. 1. I agreed to this at once, 
and after two trial shots Hardy got on the 
target, and afterwards made excellent practice. 

Yes, that 19th of April is a day I shall never 
forget. During the first hour the embrasure 
of the eight-inch gun which drew the greater 
portion of the enemy's fire was cut down and 
rebuilt three times. A sergeant and two 
sappers, detailed for repairing that part of 
the battery, were wounded, and I had per- 
sonally to repair the embrasure after the 
first occasion of its being demolished. After 
three hours' firing the eight-inch gun where 
I was standing became so hot from the quick 
work it had been doing that we were obliged 
to " cease fire," and the men, released from 
their work, crowded up on the platform to 
be out of the water, which in the trench was 
half-way up to their knees. Fortunately, how- 
ever, my other two guns continued in action, 
so that " something was doing " all the time. 

When the eight-inch gun was out of action 
I had a telescope laid in my left hand along 
the gun, and my right elbow on the shoulder 
of Charles Green, First Class boy of H.M.S. 
Queen, who was sitting on the right rear 
truck of the gun, and while I was calling out 
the results of the targets made a man handed 
round the rum for the crew, and Green asked 
me to move my elbow so that he would not 
run the risk of shaking me while drinking. 

At that moment we both stood up, and 

Green was in the act of holding the pannikin 
to his mouth when a shot from the Redan, 
coming obliquely from our left, took off his 
head as cleanly as though it had been severed 
from his body by the guillotine. With 
metallic clang the pannikin fell to the gun 
platform, and Green's body lurched towards 
me and fell at my side. 

At this moment Michael Hardy, one of the 
cheeriest Irishmen that ever breathed, and 
one of the most courageous men I have ever 
met — he was invariably cheerful in all 
circumstances, and in the most perilous 
moments he did not seem to know what fear 
was — having just fired his gun, was " serving 
the vent," which consists of stopping with 
the thumb all currents of air in the gun, which, 
if allowed to pass up the vent, would cause 
sparks remaining in the chamber to ignite 
the fresh cartridge. 

Hardy had turned up his sleeves and 
trousers, and, his shirt being opened low on 
the neck and chest, his face and body were 
covered with the contents of poor Green's 
head. Indeed, for a moment Hardy was 
practically blinded. Now, if he had lifted his 
thumb from the vent the result might easily 
have been fatal to No. 3 and No. 4, who were 
then ramming home the next charge. 

But with the coolness of a man on parade 
Hardy never flinched. With his left hand, 
without moving his right, he quietly wiped 
away his late comrade's brains from his face. 
In print, no doubt, this incident sounds par- 
ticularly gruesome, but in the heat of action 
the gruesomeness of the incident did not 
strike us — did not strike me, at any rate, as 
strongly as it does to-day. 

Several men sitting at my feet were, how- 
ever, speechless, being startled, as indeed I 
was, for as that Russian shot which had sent 
poor Green on the journey from which he 
would never return had passed within an 
inch of my face I had felt the breath of wind 
which carried it on its way, and knew full well 
that it was only the chance of War which 
had not ordained that Green and I should go 
together. When you miss death by an inch, 
or perhaps less, you realize that, in times of 
war, you may be here one moment and far 
away the next. 

For perhaps thirty seconds we stood there 
motionless. By my side lay poor Green's 
body. All around was blood, and in the 
distance sounded the dull boom, boom, 
boom, from the Russian guns. Green had 
gone, and maybe it was a sense of reverence 
for the passing n{ his soul which rendered us 
temporarily inert, Maybe it was a feeling 



of awe at the re- 
lentless advance 
of the messenger 
of Death. What- 
ever it was ^ we 
were "off duty" 
for thirty seconds 
or so , and to be 
off duty when a 
battle is raging 
is to be severely 
neglecting one's 
duty. When 
one's country's 
honour is at 
stake 7 it is not 
well to brood 
over what is past ; 
all that matters 
is the present and 
the future. But, 
as I have said, we 
forgot such time- 
w o r n theories, 
for poor Green's 
death had tem- 
porarily stunned 
us — or perhaps 1 
should say tem- 
porarily stunned 
me, for of my 
companions' feel- 
ings 1 cannot 
write. Stunned 
as I was in brain, 
I have no real 
notion of how they 
were taking what 
had happened. 

speaking as 
though he were 
reproving school- 
boys, Hardy 
brought us back 
to a sense of 
duty by remark- 
ing in contemptuous tones, " You fools! 
What the blazes are you looking at ? Is the 
man dead ? If so, take his carcass away, 
If he isn't dead, take him to the doctor." 

All the time Hardy was " serving the vent T * 
— the whole incident probably took place in 
less than half a minute — and having brought 
us to our senses he turned round and said 
sharply to Xo. 3, " Jim ; are you home ? " as 
the loader, who was in the act of giving a final 



nodded, and without bestowing another look 
on us, or possibly even thinking of me, Hardy 
gave the order, " Run out- Ready ! M 

One of the softest-hearted men that ever 
lived, Hardy had undoubtedly felt Green's 
death as keenly as any of us. His amazing 
pluck, therefore, blinded as he was, in keeping 
his thumb on the vent, and thus saving 
the lives of No, 3 and No, 4, was truly 
the most remarkable act of bravery I have 
ever seen. 

tap, had rammed home the charge, Jim 

{This Scriis will bt wniimttd in the mx£ numiwr.) 


V4L xlvL-27. 



i^lab aster Jar 



N a day of brilliant sunshine 
Dr. Howe was seated on his 
veranda pverlooking the still 
waters of the harbour below. 
A private steam yacht had 
just come to anchor, %nd he 
watched it idly through his 
glasses. It was close enough for him to see 
a little cluster of men clad in white flannels 
lounging on chairs on the shining deck, 
and the smoke of their cigars made a faint 
blue cloud against the spotless white paint 
of the funnels behind them. They were 
seated in a circle, and a table with tea-things 
stood in their centre. 

The yacht was a fine vessel, painted in 
white and gold, and a small crowd of 
people on the quay-side were watching it with 
curiosity, because a private steam yacht rarely 
put in at that port. Dr. Howe sucked his 
pipe meditatively as his eye travelled over 
the luxurious fittings of this ship. Then, 
laying down his glasses, he settled himself 
with a sigh in his chair and went to sleep. 

He was awakened at length by a step on 
the path, and, looking up, saw a man in ship's 
uniform, with a smart gold-braided white 
cap, coming towards him. 

" Dr. Howe, sir ? " 

" I am Dr. Howe." 

The man saluted. 

"I am the steward of the VespertiUo, 
sir. My master, Mr. Hartway, wishes me 
to ask you if you are likely to be free to-night 
between nine and ten." 

Dr. Howe sat up in his chair. 

" Between nine and ten ? Yes, I think so. 
Does he want me to come on board ? " 

" I don't know, sir, But he wishes you to 

Illustrated by * * * 

be in readiness between nine and ten. That 
is all he said, sir. And I was to hand you 

The steward held out an envelope. Dr. 
Howe took it. Inside was a cheque for five 
guineas and a note asking him to accept the 
money as a retaining iee for his services 
between the hours of nine and ten that night, 
as Mr. Hartway was not sure whether he 
would require him or not. The letter was 
from Mr. Hartway's secretary. 

t)r. Howe pocketed the cheque, and in- 
formed the steward that he would make a 
point of staying at home between the hours 
mentioned. After the steward had gone, 
Dr. Howe looked at the cheque again, and 
then turned his glasses once more on the 
steamship VespertiUo, that lay gleaming in 
the harbour, with a flood of white and gold 
flashes in the waters under her smart bows. 

The group of men round the tea-table 
were still visible, but one of them was stand- 
ing. He was holding something in one hand 
and pointing to it with the other. It was 
a white object, and now and then the sunlight 
flashed on it. The men around were leaning 
forward in attitudes of close attention. 

Dr. Howe focused his glasses carefully, 
trying to make out the object. But he 
could not see what it was. The individual 
who was holding it at length made an inter- 
rogative gesture to one of the sitters, who 
shook his head. Then he shrugged his 
shoulders, clasped the white thing in both 
hands, and went below with it. Howe could 
see his companions talking, and from their 
movements a violent argument seemed to 
be in progress. 

A call from the itiuuse interrupted his 



examination of the yacht, and Howe went 
indoors. He was busy until dinner, when 
the discovery of the cheque in his pocket 
brought his thoughts back to the yacht. 
He spoke of it to his wife, and passed her 
across the letter he had received. 

" Hart way ! " she exclaimed. " Why, 
that must be the great financier. ,, 

Dr. Howe's knowledge of things financial 
was small, and he had not heard the name. 

" Surely you've seen the name in the 
papers ! " said his wife. " He's at the head 
of the New Beet Sugar Company that your 
brother wanted you to invest in. You 
remember how the shares went up ever so 
many points when it was announced that 
Mr. Hartway was behind it." 

"Is he a millionaire, then ? " 

" Of course he is. So that is his beautiful 
yacht ! " 

She went to the window and looked over 
the bay. Evening was falling, and the 
lighthouse was flashing its fan-light across 
the darkening sky. The Vespertillo was 
brilliantly illuminated. Light streamed from 
every porthole over the water of the harbour. 
Mrs. Howe gazed at it a moment, and then, 
recollecting something, picked up a news- 
paper from the corner. 

" Here it is ! " she exclaimed, after searching 
the columns. " I thought I had noticed it 
yesterday morning. Listen to this : ' Mr. 
Hartway, the well-known financier, is going 
for a short sea voyage in the company of 
Professor Madison, the Egyptologist, and 
Mr. Julian Vornheim, Sir Mark Sherman, 
and Mr. Lucas Spyer, who are all well known 
in the financial world. It is said that Mr. 
Stonewall William, the American millionaire, 
may accompany him. Naturally this gather- 
ing together of. some of the 'kings of finance 
has aroused great interest, and it is rumoured 
that an important development may be 
expected. Some astonishment has been ex- 
pressed that some of these gentlemen should 
meet together, as it is well known that Mr. 
Hartway and Mr. Stonewall William have 
been irreconcilable rivals in certain big 
speculative movements for many years.' 
How interesting that you should go on board 
the yacht, George, and see them all ! " 

Mrs. Howe put down the newspaper. 
Her husband felt a little mystified, for he 
was reflecting that in all probability it was 
Hartway himself who anticipated being ill, 
and that, if a man of such wealth knew before- 
hand at what time sickness would overtake 
him, it was strange that he did not carry 
& medical man about with him. On the 

other hand, if Hartway expected someone 
else to be ill between nine and ten, it intro- 
duced an additional element of mystery into 
the case that was scarcely pleasant. 

However, he did not worry himself, for 
the cheque had put him in a good humour 
and it came at an opportune moment. His 
practice was not very large and it took him 
all his time to make both ends meet. More- 
over, there was an enjoyable sense of 
expectation that he might possibly earn more 
money before the night was out. 

While he was smoking in his study his wife 
came in and suggested that he ought to put 
on evening dress. He opposed the idea 

" But remember everything will be very 
luxurious on the yacht, George," she urged. 
" And they may ask you to stay and have a 
smoke or a drink or something. I'm sure you 
would feel more comfortable if you dressed." 

So at length Dr. Howe consented, and went 
up to dress. 

Shortly after nine o'clock the bell rang, and 
Dr. Howe sprang to his feet with an exclama- 
tion of satisfaction. The steward was waiting 
for him in the hall. 

" Mr. Hartway would like you to come 
aboard the yacht at once, sir. The launch is 
waiting at the steps of the jetty." 

Dr. Howe slipped on a light coat, picked 
up his bag, and followed the man down the 
hillside to the quay below. 

" Is anyone ill ? " he asked. 

" I don't know, sir." 

The answer was given in tones of polite 
indifference, as if the steward saw nothing 
unusual in his master's summons for the 

" Where are you bound f or ? " asked Howe, 
as they reached the quay. 

" I scarcely know, sir. The coast of 
France, I believe. We weigh anchor at six 
to-morrow morning." 

A gasolene launch was waiting at the bottom 
of the steps, and in a few moments they were 
gliding swiftly across the dark water to the 
accompaniment of the sharp staccato panting 
of the exhaust. The launch swept round in 
a wide circle and came alongside the yacht. 
Dr. Howe, grasping his bag, clambered up 
the gangway and stood on the deck of the 
Vespertillo. Save for the distant hum of a 
dynamo the ship was silent. Looking back, 
he saw the lights of his house up on the hill- 
side. The steward took his coat and bag and 
showed him down the companion-way. 

The saloon of the Vespertillo, though not 
very big, was exquisitely fitted. Inlaid 

' " .' CDC I tv ,-■ r* '■ A kl 





satin-wood panels lined the walls and the 
painted ceiling was lit by softly-shaded 
electric lights. 

When Dr. Howe entered he saw half-a- 
dozen men seated round the table. Dinner 
was at an end and they were lounging in their 
chairs, and the air was heavy with cigar- 

" The doctor, sir/' announced the steward, 
who at once withdrew. 

Hartway, a tall, elderly man, with a grey 
moustache and a heavy, massive face, rose 
and. came forward, and Dr. Howe recognized 
him as the man he had seen through his 
glasses holding the white object in his hand. 

" How d'ye do, Dr. Howe/' he said, in a 
deep voice. "It is exceedingly kind of you 
to come." 

" I received " 

Before he could proceed, the other cut him 

" Will you take a glass of port ? Try one 
of these cigars. They are quite mild. 
Gentlemen, this is Dr. Howe." 

The other men at the table nodded curtly. 

*' Perhaps I had better get my work done 
first," said Howe, " I'll take a cigar later." 

" Very well," said Hartway. " Sit down, 
won't you ? The reason why we sent for you 
at this late hour will take a few minutes' 

He swung his chair round to face Howe. 

" We have a sort of bet on," he began, 
smiling slightly. " My friend here, Pro- 
fessor Madison, is the famous Egyptologist. 
You may have heard his name before." 
Hartway paused and poured himself out a 
glass of wine. " Well, the Professor has been 
excavating recently in the Nile Valley 
somewhere near the village of " 

He looked inquiringly at Professor Madison, 
who sat opposite him. 

" El Amarna," was the reply. 

Dr. „ Howe looked across the table. The 
Professor was a grey-bearded man with a 
narrow face and dreamy eyes. 

11 Ah, yes," continued Hartway. " Perhaps 
you will tell Dr. Howe what you found there." 

" To be as brief as possible, I found, in one 
of the tombs of the Pharaohs, a perfectly 
ordinary alabaster canopic jar, of the type 
that is conspicuous in Egyptian burials," 
said Madison. " It was sealed, of course. 
Only there was an inscription on it that was 
vcrj odd.** 

The Professor leaned forward and picked 
up a white jar from the table, which Howe, 
who had not noticed it before, recognized as 
the object he had observed through his glasses. 

" You will see that the stopper is carved 
elaborately to represent the head of the 
Pharaoh, wearing the usual male wig of the 
period and having the royal cobra upon the 
forehead. But here, on the sides, you will 
see the inscription. Now that inscription, 
which is difficult to render literally into 
English, says that if anyone opens this jar, 
let him beware, for instant death will come 
upon him. Now, an inscription of that sort 
on an alabaster canopic jar is very strange — 
so unusual that one is almost inclined to think 
there may be something in it. Personally, 
long association with the East has made me 
superstitious, and I would not open that jar 

" We have been discussing the subject 
during dinner," said Hartway. " And most 
of us — in fact, all of us — being superstitious, we 
are naturally very much interested in the jar. 
It has been suggested that one of us should 
open it, to see what happens. But since we 
are all superstitious, we do not wish to run 
any unnecessary risks." 

" Quite so," said Dr. Howe, thoroughly 
mystified. " I should leave it alone if I were 

" No, no," exclaimed Julian Vornheim^ 
who sat next to him. " We are determined 
to open it." 

" Certainly," came an American voice 
from behind a cloud of smoke. " We're just 
going to have that stopper out." 

" My friend Mr. Stonewall William is 
very anxious to put the inscription to the 
test," said Hartway. " In fact, we are all 
anxious, except Professor Madison, who 
refuses to have anything to do with it." 

" Which of you is going to open it ? " 
asked Dr. Howe, looking round. 

They all leaned forward and looked at him 

" That is for you to decide," said Stone- 
wall William, a small, dried-up little man 
with brilliant eyes. His voice was high and 

" Yes," echoed Hartway, in his deep bass 
voice. " That is for you to decide." 

" For me to decide ? Do you want me 
to open it ? " 

There was a chorus of dissent. 

" Certainly not," said the American mil- 
lionaire. " We ain't going to let anybody 
run such a risk. No, it's to be one of us — 
that is, excepting Professor Madison. Now, 
doctor, if you were going to select out of a few 
men to run a risk, whom would you naturally 
select ? " 

" Well, the oldeiii, I suppose." 






Original from 



" You mean the one with least life before 

" Yes." 

" That isn't always the oldest by any 
means," said Julian Vornheim. " Sir Mark 
Sherman and Mr. Lucas Spyer, who were 
born on the same day, are the oldest here, 
but Sherman looks as if he was thirty and 
Spyer looks as if he were a hundred." 

Vornheim laughed unmusically, and Lucas 
Spyer, a wizened Jew, with large round 
spectacles, glanced at him with a glint of 
anger. Sherman, an enormously stout, red- 
faced individual, chuckled pleasantly. 

" It's not a question of age, Dr. Howe," 
said Hart way, blandly. " It's a question of 
who has got most chances of living. We 
are so keen about this alabaster jar that we 
want you to tell us as far as you are able 
which of us here has the best chance of life, 
and we are agreed that the one you select 
as having the worst chance will open the 

Dr. Howe made an uneasy movement. 

" Aren't you taking this rather too 
seriously ? " 

" We've been talking about that jar until 
we're near crazy about it," said Stonewall 
William. " I tell you, Dr. Howe, we're 
determined to see into it before the night's 
out, and we're all kind of worked up over it. 
There's Professor Madison, who won't touch 
the thing, and he knows." 

" Those old priests possessed a knowledge 
that's been lost to the world," said Sir Mark 
Sherman, earnestly. " It's a risk to open 
it, yet I'm willing to go into the lottery." 

" Now, doctor, don't disappoint us," 
exclaimed Hartway. 

Dr. Howe fancied he caught an imperative 
look in his eye. 

" All right," he said. " I'm perfectly 
willing to do my part of the affair, but you 
must remember my forecast will not be very 
reliable. One can only make a statement 
that as far as one can tell a man will live so 
many years. It would be absurd to claim 

" That's all right," said Vornheim. " We 
simply want your opinion, and we're willing 
to adhere to it." 

" Very well, I'm ready." 

Dr. Howe stood up. Hartway rose and 
opened a door at the end of the saloon. 

" You can examine each of us in turn in 
here," he said. " Perhaps Mr. Stonewall 
William will consent to going first." 

The American millionaire nodded, and 
followed the doctor out of the saloon. He 

was away about five minutes, and was followed 
by Julian Vornheim. Slowly each guest 
was examined turn by turn, save Professor 
Madison, and finally Hartway himself entered 
the doctor's presence. He closed the door 
at once. 

" Just undo your shirt-front," said Dr. 
Howe, who, with his stethoscope in his ears, 
was jotting down notes on the back of an 

Hartway submitted to his examination 
with a good-humoured smile. Dr. Howe took 
some time before he had finished. 

" Now," said Hartway, " I simply let you 
examine me as a matter of form. I know I'm 
as sound as a bell." He came close to Howe. 
" Look here," he said, in a low voice, " this 
affair is all a put-up game. I want these 
men — Stonewall William in particular — to 
carry away the idea that I can't last another 
year. If they get that into their heads, 
the price of the New Beet Sugar Trust shares 
will drop at once. Now I want that to happen 
because I want to buy up as many shares as 
I can. I own a big block as it is. But I 
want them all. Do you see ? " 

" Well ? " 

" Well, if you go back to the saloon and 
say in a grave voice that I'm in a bad way, 
with only a year before me at the outside, 
then I'll start up excitedly, and there 
will be a bit of a scene, and then William 
and Vornheim and the rest of them will 
carry away that idea and act accordingly. 
They'll calculate on the shares dropping, 
and will get an option of them for a certain 
figure above that to which they'll drop, for 
no one thinks anything will happen to New 
Beets. They'll hang on, waiting for my 
death, and I'll do them all by not dying — 
see ? After they've got the option they'll 
spread the rumour. The shares will drop, 
and I'll buy at a reasonably low figure. Do 
you follow me ? " 

" Yes," said Howe, slowly. " I think so." 

Hartway put a cheque on the table. It was 
for a hundred guineas. 

" There," he said, " that's for you." 

Dr. Howe looked at it a moment. 

" You're giving me this, I understand, on 
condition that I tell them you haven't got 
a year to live at the outside ? " 

" Yes." 

Dr. Howe picked up the cheque and put it 
in his pocket-book. 

" Very well," he remarked. He looked at 
the floor thoughtfully. " By the way," he 
said, " you'll have to open that jar." 

" Oh, I don't Tiiind that!" exclaimed 





Hart way, with a laugh. " I'm really not a 
bit superstitious* Madison is a .crank in 
these things. He believes in the devil f you 
know. Funny Idea. 1 ' Hart way adjusted his 
tie in the mirror and turned to the door. 
"I'm much obliged to you," he said. iL I 
thought you'd be no trouble. A cheque gets 
over most scruples, eh ? Now, mind you are 
very impressive and serious in the way you 
tell them. Lay It on thick/' 

Hart way led the way back to the saloon. 
The other men were talking at the table. 
Professor Madison was looking through one 
of the open port-holes at the lights of the 
town. He turned as Dr. Howe entered and 
touched his arm. 

<£ Td rather they did not try to open the 
jar/ J he said, in an aside, " Can't you 
persuade them not to ? " 

Howe shrugged his shoulders, 

" That is hardly my business/' he said, 
11 Do you really think there is any danger ? " 

" Well, it's impossible to say. But I hate 
meddling with these supernatural things, I've 
seen one or two examples in Egypt that have 
left an indelible impression on my mind." 

Hart way interrupted them, 

** Now, doctor, will you be so kind as to 
give the result of your examination ? We 
are all anxious to hear." 

pr T Howe walked across the saloon to the 

table. The men round it looked at him 
expectantly, He fixed his eyes on the 
ancient alabaster jar that stood amongst the 
confusion of coffee-cups and wineglasses and 
fruit-dishes before him, 

11 Gentlemen/' he said, gravely, " I have 
no hesitation in giving you the result of my 

" Bully for you ! " said Stonewall William. 

Dr, Howe raised his eyes and looked round 
at the men before him, 

They were watching him with a certain 
fascination, for the judgment he was about to 
pass, although probably of no special value, 
was of compelling interest, They expected a 
long rigmarole in which he would hint that 
one or other of them showed signs of breaking 
up at a fairly early date. None of them w^ould 
attach much importance to it, beyond that it 
settled who was now to open the jar, But 
when Dr, Howe pronounced his verdict there 
was a moment's silence. 

" There is one of you/' he said, in a low 
voice, " who has not more than a year to live 
at the very outside.^ He straightened his 
back and looked across the table and spoke 
clearly, " And that is Mr. Hart way," 

He met the financier's look steadilv. The 
others turned in their chcairs, staring, Stone- 
wall William made a curious noise with his 
tongue and glanced at Vornheim, 

a\v En. 




" What's that ? " exclaimed Hart way, 
jumping up. He simulated an expression 
of amazement* " Only a year to live ! 
Nonsense! I'm as sound as a bell ! " 

11 I have given you my opinion/' said Howe, 

Hart way began to bluster. 

** Absurd ! " he said, " Ridiculous ! 
Look at me ! IVe never had a day's illness 
in my life, It's preposterous to make such a 

prognosis ! 
seriously ? J 
11 Yes," 



you really mean 

gitized by Google 

"Do you mean that you are certain?** 
persisted Hart way, keeping up the pose of 
incredulous surprise, 

4t Absolutely." 

Inwardly Hart way felt he owed the doctor 
another cheque for the admirable way in 
which he was acting his part, 

" Pah ! " he exclaimed. " It's nonsense, 
I never heard such arrant nonsense before/' 
He sat down again, frowning. 

" Don't blame the doctor/' said William, 
" He's only done his duty." 

11 Ohj well, I suppose he has. Thank 





Heaven, doctors are often wrong ! ,T exclaimed 
Hartway, in calmer tonus, "After all, the 
main purpose of our summoning Dr. Howe 
was to find out who should open the Egyptian 
jar. It's up to me, I suppose/ 1 

The attitude of his guests, which had been 
rather tense, relaxed somewhat. They looked 
significantly at one another, 

Hartway left the saloon to find an instru- 
ment with which to prise open the stopper of 
the jar, and Vornheim leaned across towards 
Howe, " You really mean that ? " he asked. 

Howe nodded. 

VpL xlvi.^2©. 

Stonewall William and Sir Mark Sherman 
began w r his paring together. It was clear that 
the news had given them something else to 
think about than the alabaster jar. The 
wizened Spyer sat huddled up on his chair 
gazing intently at a dish of nuts, A slight 
frown now showed he was thinking hard* 

Dr. Howe still stood, looking down on 
them. Professor Madison was pacing slowly 
up and down the saloon. In a few moments 
Hartway returned with a hammer and a 
narrow chisel; ucid the whispering at the 
table stopped instantly on his entry* 



" Well, I must make the best of a bad job," 
he exclaimed, with well - simulated cheerful- 
ness. " But I must have a talk with you, 
doctor, before you go. I think you have made 
- a mistake. Come, now, haven't you ? " 

Dr. Howe shook his head. 

" I'm sorry, Mr. Hartway, but you 
demanded a veracious report, and I have 
given it." 

" But it's only your opinion," said Hartway. 

" Naturally. It is only my opinion." 

Hartway laid the hammer and chisel on the 
table. He noticed out of the corner of his 
eye that the other financiers were watching 
him close!/. He could have hugged himself 
to see his plans working out so successfully. 
He knew what to expect later that night — 
casual inquiries about telegraph offices being 
open, or the sight of all his party in the 
smoking saloon writing instructions to their 
various agents, based on the fact of his early 
decease. Truly, Dr. Howe had played his 
part well. 

He picked up the jar. 

11 The unpleasant little bit of news we have 
received need not deter us from opening 
this," " he said, looking at the American 
millionaire. "After I have opened it I shall 
do my best — and I hope we all shall — to 
forget Dr. Howe's words." 

" Quite so," said Vornheim, gruffly. ■ 

" I guess the doctor's exaggerating," 
observed, the American, although his ex- 
pression of grim satisfaction did not bear out 
his remark. 

" Will you assist, Professor Madison ? " 
asked Hartway. "Do I strike here with 
the chisel ? Ah, yes, thanks, I see — just 
at the edge of the seal. It's a pity to destroy 
that fine impression of the royal cobra." 

He brought the hammer down smartly 
on the chisel, and the seal crumbled under the 
blow. Vornheim and Sherman leaned for- 
ward eagerly, but Spyer was too wrapped 
up in his calculations to take any interest 
•in the opening of the jar. 

A moment later the chisel broke up the 
stopping in the mouth of the jar and Hartway 
laid down his tools. 

" There ! " he exclaimed. " The jar is 
opened and nothing has happened." 

He picked it up and inverted it. A little 
dust came out of the mouth, and fell in a heap 
on the tablecloth. 

" Nothing inside it," said Hartway. 

The others clustered round the jar, and 
poked at the dust with dessert knives. Hart- 
way took the opportunity of going round to 
Dr. Howe. 

" Thanks," he said, in a whisper. " You've 
done it magnificently. They are all sure 
I'm going to die. If you'll allow me, I'd like 
to add to that cheque before you go." 

" It is already more than enough for my 
services," said Howe. " I could not think 
of taking more." 

Hartway nodded and winked and turned 

" Now, Professor Madison, you see what 
your superstitions are worth!" he cried. 
" The jar is open and I'm still alive. How 
do you account for that ? " 

The old Egyptologist shrugged his shoulders 
and said nothing. 

" Only a little dust inside it," said Vorn- 
heim, disappointedly. " I thought there 
would be a snake at least, or an evil genius 
that would come out in a cloud of smoke." 

Hartway laughed shortly and patted him 
on the back. 

" Poor Vornheim ! He thought I was going 
to drop down dead." 

He returned to the table and picked up the 
jar again. 

" Professor Madison must have read the 
inscription incorrectly," he said, " or else 
those old priests worked out the incantation 
in the wrong way. Now, doctor, you must 
have a little port before you go. And try 
a cigar." 

Hartway reached across for the decanter. 

<r I must take some too," he added. " That 
news of the doctor's about my prospects of 
life makes it pardonable for a man to fly to 
a little stimulant. What do you think, 
Sherman ? " 

" You must not believe him," he said, 
comfortably. " You should never believe bad 
news till you have to." 

" Not until I have to ! That will be a long 
time » 

Hartway stopped suddenly, and caught at 
the edge of the table. His body was swaying 
slightly. They all started forward, but before 
they reached him he fell at -full length 
on the carpet. They ran confusedly to him, 
and Dr. Howe tore off his collar and passed 
his hand under his shirt-front. The others 
stood in an anxious circle round him. 

A minute of silence passed. 

" He's dead ! " said Howe, at last. 


" Yes." There was a long silence. The 
doctor rose and looked at the alabaster jar. 
" Curious," he said, quietly, " but it's one of 
those things that we cannot definitely connect 
with the supernatural. You see, he was 
suffering from aneurism, and didn't know it." 


Witt Some Easy Puzzles for Beginners. By Henry E. Duaeney. 


A man had a 

square plantation 
of 49 trees, but, as 
will be seen by the 
omissions in the 
illustration, four 
trees were blown 
down and re moved. 
He now wants to 
cut down all the 
remainder except 
ten trees, which 
are to be so left 
that they shall form 
five straight rows 
with four trees in 
every row. Which are the ten trees that he must leave ? 

A CERTAIN family party consisted of 1 grandfather, 
1 grandmother, 2 fathers, 2 mothers, 4 children, 
3 grandchildren, 1 brother, 2 sisters, 2 sons, 2 daughters, 
1 father-in-law, 1 mother-in-law, and 1 daughter-in- 
law. Twenty -three people, you will say. No ; there 
were only seven persons present. Can you show how 
this might be ? 















































The illustration shows eighteen dominoes arranged 
in the form of a square so that the pips in every one 
of the six columns, 
six rows, and two 
long diagonals add 
up 13. This is the 
smallest summa- 
tion possible with 
any selection of 
dominoes from an 
ordinary box of 
twenty-eight. The 
greatest possible 
summation is 23, 
and a solution for 
this number may 
be easily obtained 
by substituting for 
every number its complement to 6. Thus, for every 
blank substitute a 6, for every 1 a 5, for every 2 a 
4, for 3 a 3, for 4 a 2, for 5 a 1, and for 6 a blank. 
But the puzzle is to make a selection of eighteen 
dominoes and arrange them (in exactly the form 
shown) so that the summations shall be 18 in all the 
fourteen directions mentioned. 

' * 1 * ' * 

... . 

• • •' • 

• • IN • 

• • ' 1 V • 

• 1 • 



• t 

* '1 1 

• •• 

• ... 

• • 
• 1 • 1 1 
* • 1 

• • 

• • 

• 1 • 1 • 1 • 

• • • 



A MAN left instructions to his executors to distribute 
once a year exactly fifty-five shillings among the poor 
of his parish, but they were only to continue the gift 
so long as they could make it in different ways, always 
giving eighteenpence each to a number of women and 
half a crown each to men. During how many years 
could the charity be administered ? Of course, by 
" different ways is meant a different number of men 
and women every time, 

He sat upon the first. The month was hot ; 
But hoping to be fourth he'd sought the spot. 
A maid passed by— he needs must third her face, 
For he would second her with every grace. 
Yet now he neither fifths nor feels his pain, 
And Hymen, in his bonds, hath bound the twain. 

Solutions to Last Month's Puzzle*. 

According to the conditions, in the strict sense in 

which one at first 
understands them, 
there is no pos- 
sible solution to 
this puzzle. In 
such a dilemma 
one always has to 
look for some 
verbal quibble or 
trick. If the owner 
of house A will 

allow the water 

company to run 
their pipe for house C through his property (and we 
are not bound to assume that he would object), then 
the difficulty is got over, as shown in our illustration. 
It will be seen that the dotted line from W to C passes 
through house A, but no pipe ever crosses another pipe. 

HERE again we are driven back, in each case, on a 
trick or quibble. (1) If you fold a piece of paper and 
insert the point of your pencil in the fold, you can draw 
the two lines C D 

and E F in one r p 

stroke. Then you 
can draw the line 
A to B in the 
second stroke, and 
G H in the third 
stroke. (2) With 
a single finger rub 
out A to B in one n 

stroke, G II in the 

second rub, and C D and E F, with two fingers at once, 
in the third rub. Without tricks of the kind shown, 
four strokes or rubs are absolutely necessary. 


B F 

Every purchase must represent a square number of 
farthings. We have therefore to find those five pairs 
of squares that have a common difference of 405 (the 
number of farthings in 8s. 5Jd.), and these pairs will 
each give the expenditure of a mother and daughter. 
The other facts stated enable us to adjust these sums 
to fit the individuals, so that when we find Annie must 
be the daughter of Mrs. Brown, we learn Annie's sur- 
name, and so with the others. The girls' names were 
Ada Smith, Amiie Brown, Emily Jones, Mary Robinson, 




and the Humours' 

of them 


(ike V/ell-kiiown Referee ana Handicapper), 

Illustrated by Alfred Leete. 

HIRTY years* fairly intimate 
acquaintance with the game of 
lawn-tennis — ten as a tour- 
nament player, ten as an 
interested onlooker, and ten as 
a referee and handicapper — 
have provided me with a 
store of humorous recollections. 

Now j if you were to judge from the set faces 
and serious expressions of the spectators 
crowding round, and the people playing in, 
the centre court at Wimbledon during an 
important match in the " championship fort- 
night/' you might be excused for thinking that 
a tennis tournament was the last place in 
the world in which to look for humour. 
Yet even at Wimbledon you may always 
see something new, whether it be a novel 
variety of service by some member of 
the (1 contortionist " school, or a pleasing 
variant of the usual costume, such as 
was worn by an Italian competitor a year 
of two ago, who appeared in the sensible 
but unorthodox garb of a sleeveless vest, 
frilled and embroidered* Unluckily this was 
on a side court, and so most people missed it. 

Still, Wimbledon is mainly a very serious 
business, and the most prolific source of 
humour there is of the kind which consists 
in watching the expressions of players who 
have lost matches they expected to win. This, 
of course, is not so much for the multitude 
as for the victims' own dearest friends. 

It is at the innumerable £i holiday" tourna- 
ments which succeed Wimbledon that the 
fun of the fair really begins. The great 
events of the year are over and done with ; 
the game becomes less serious and more 
jolly; only the champions have reputations 
to keep up, and they do not play much in 
holiday tournaments. Everybody is out to 
enjoy himself, and in fine weather there are, 
even for poor players,, few pleasanter ways 
of spending a holiday than going round to 
two or three of the seaside tournaments* 
There the new-comers will meet players with 
whose names they are familiar, and learn new 
shots to practise in their own clubs. Some 
of them will no doubt also learn what is 
expected of them by those in charge of the 
management erf thesis meetings ; others will 

not - ^IFM^W'P 

sponsible all their 


tournament career. 1 remember ■ a pair of 
players once who turned up on the Tuesday 
of a tournament, and, not being put on to 
play immediately, never appeared again 
till the Saturday afternoon, and were then 
extraordinarily bitter with me because they 
had been scratched some time on Thursday, 
I did not at first gather the import of their 
inquiries as to how the mixed doubles handi™ 
cap was getting on, till it dawned upon me, 
when they saidj " And when do we play ? " 
that this was the couple over whom I had gone 
hoarse through the megaphone all Thursday 

But if some players are ignorant of 
what they are expected to do, others are 
full of guile. There is the man who, to gain 
time when he is getting rather blown, spends 
minutes wiping his glasses ; and his counter- 
part in the girl who, in similar straits, oppor- 
tunely breaks some mysterious string and 
has to retire to the dressing-room, leaving 
her opponent to get chilly on the court, 
I saw one of the former class neatly dealt 
with once by his opponent, who, when the 
glass- wiper at length announced he was ready, 
said, 4t But I'm not- I want to sit down ! " 
And sit down he did, the umpire gravely 
refusing to make him get up, until he thought 
the lesson had been driven well home. Even 
at Wimbledon a year or two back a certain 
Continental visitor succeeded in serving in 
two successive games, the last of one set and 
the first of the next, without either his oppo- 
nent or the umpire detecting his ingenious 
breach of the rules. 

Some very amusing incidents happen at 
little tournaments which are run by local 
committees without much knowledge of the 
rules or of players outside their own borders. 
Many years ago I remember a player telling 
me that at one of these meetings he had been 

asked by the committee if he would mind 
serving underhand, as his overhead service 
did such damage to the net ! At another 
of these little meetings a leading light of the 
Chancery Bar went in, being on his holiday, 
at the not prohibitive entry fee of half a 
crown. Despite the presence of numerous 
curates amongst the competitors, he over- 
came all comers, and went home, having 
enjoyed his game, and oblivious of prizes. 
Think of his mingled horror and amusement 
when next morning a messenger brought him 
a package containing eleven half-crowns, 
eight shillings, four sixpences, and twenty- 
eight threepenny-bits (these being, doubtless, 
the curates* contributions), with a note from 
the secretary to say that this was what he 
had won. He went at once to a silversmith's 
and purchased a suitable memento to the 
value of the prize money, except for one shil- 
ling, with which he purchased a copy of the 
" Lawn-Tennis Annual," and forwarded it to 
the secretary, drawing his attention to Regu- 
lation four. 

One of the hardest things the management 
of a tournament has to contend with is to 
get a good supply of umpires. Players hate 
playing a match without an umpire, and yet 
they are usually very averse to umpiring 
themselves, although, to do them justice, 
many players do take on this thankless job 
far more often than they ought to be asked 
to do. Almost innumerable are the excuses 
m^de to avoid mounting the umpire's steps. 
Players who, in their own matches, can see 
with hawk-like keenness the exact piece of 
chalk that the ball they have returned hits 
on their opponent's base-line w r ill allege 
short-sightedness when called on to umpire. 
Perhaps the record excuse ever given by an 
unwilling empire was that he'd do it with 
ple£i^Ljr? r ;^ the rut-cord 

22 I 


strokes, and so was afraid he'd be no good. 
As against that, I have heard of one who, 
observing the secretary bearing down upon 
him with a score-book, made a virtue of 
necessity, and mendaciously remarked, " Oh, 
yes ; I was just coming to ask if I might ! " 
Once up on the chair the wretched man may 
be kept there for hours, especially if the match 
happens to be a ladies' double. One who had 
sat it out for a long time, at length resolved 
to grasp his first opportunity. So as soon 
as one man at last got within a point of the 
match, and his opponent served a fault, as 
he served again the umpire called out, 


" Fault ! — foot-fault ! Game, set, and match 
to Jones ! " hopped off the chair, and was 
away in the referees' tent with the score 
before Smith, open-mouthed in dismay, had 
recovered from his astonishment at this 
summary ending to what had been, to him, 
a most interesting encounter. Sometimes, 
however, an umpire stays up a very short 
time only. Once at a match between 
E. R. Allen and A. E. Beamish, a man asked 
to be allowed to umpire. The referee, 
thinking that one so eager might also be 
competent, entrusted him with the duty. 
But when he called the first point " Fifteen 
in," and the second " Fifteen out," and then 
shouted "Out" to a ball that pitched 
almost on the junction of the service and 
half-court lines, the agonized screams of 
" E. R." brought the referee forth with a 
fresh umpire in record time. 

I could tell enough stories about the 
celebrated Allen brothers, those popular and 
rotund twins, to fill a whole issue of The 
Strand, but one or two must suffice. Bad 
umpiring is anathema to them, and once, 
when they had been suffering from many 
horrible decisions, they implored the referee 
to put a linesman on for them. Scenting some 
fun,. the referee asked an incorrigible practical 
joker who happened to be at hand to take 
the base-line. The Aliens beamed on one 
another and on the linesman, and E. R. 
served. " Foot-fault ! " immediately cried 
the linesman, and incontinently subsided 
backwards off his chair, while the whole 
gallery yelled with laughter, the Aliens mean- 
while tearing their hair and calling Heaven 
to witness that they had never served a foot- 
fault in their lives. Which, indeed, was 
perfectly true. 

Although they have now been playing for 
more than twenty-five years in tournaments, 
there is still no more gate-drawing attraction 
at any meeting than the Aliens provide, 
and lucky is the tournament that receives 
their entry. Innumerable are the prizes they 
have won. E. R. Allen, in an unfortunate 
season a few years ago, described himself as 
" going about exuding challenge cups at every 
pore," so unsuccessful was he in retaining 
the numerous trophies which another year's 
winning would have made his own. The 
brothers, absolutely devoted to each other, 
vilify one another in the most alarming 
manner when on court in a double, and it 
is to enjoy these brotherly words of criticism 
and advice that the crowds flock to the 
court when they are performing. Increasing 
years have added plumpness to both of the 


twins, and especially to C. G. 
Lately, in excuse for missing 
a shot which kicked badly, 
he turned to his brother and 
pleaded pathetically, w It 
broke right round me/ 1 
"What! round youf" was 
the biting retort, and the 
spectators were again dis- 
solved in mirth. 

A good share of the 
humours of a tournament 
comes in the way of the 
referee. He it is upon whom 
an indignant father bursts, 
with righteous indignation, 
to impart his illogical con- 
viction that " if my daugh- 
ter had been properly handi- 
capped she would have won 
easily t " It is to him that 
a husband has been known 
to bring the apparently 
startling request, "I want 
you to scratch my wife " ! 
His duties, in the manage- 
ment and careful fitting-in 
of the matches of a tourna- 
ment, are apt to be dis- 
turbed by telegrams such as 
the following series, which 
once came at intervals of about half an hour 
from an absent competitor whose presence 
was urgently desired. No. 1 ran, " Car 
broken down ; hiring another." No. 2, 
" Hired car broken down, coming by train*" 
No, 3, " Train broken down, hiring special." 
And No, 4, u Special broken down ; walking" 
Quite outside one's ordinary duties is the 
receipt of such a postcard as the following : 
" I see you have a crochet tournament at 

next week. Please let me know bv 


return what size cotton and pins are allowed," 
This baffled me completely, until I learned 
that in the week following the tennis tourna- 
ment a croquet tournament was to be held 
on the same ground, and either through a 
printer's error or supreme mental blindness 
some confiding spinster had jumped to the 
conclusion that the opportunity had at last 
arrived for exhibiting her talents as a crochet- 

The information supplied by competitors 
on their entry-forms as to their capabilities, 
for handicapping purposes, is also sometimes 
of a very astounding nature. I wish I had 
made notes of all the curious efforts to give 
me information in this respect that I have 
received. But here are a few of them : 


** Please remember that I am over fifty, and 
weigh eighteen stone/' " Beaten by Ritchie 
in the open singles at Cannes 6— o, 6 — o* 
6 — o j did not play in the handicaps," il Have 
been out of England for some years, but last 
year won the ping-pong championship of 
the Eastern Pacific." " My style is good, but 
I am very erotic " (this was from a lady 
whose spelling was even worse than her 
tennis). A week or tw T o ago the only 
information on the entry form of a lady 
competitor was: "Service very unsafe," I 
concluded, on the whole, that she more pro- 
bably meant that she was in the habit of 
serving double faults than that she was the 
possessor of a very fast and dangerous service, 
and treated her accordingly. I was correct 
in my estimate, i remember once a couple of 
men, very indifferent players, entering for 
the level events only at a tournament. As 
they very soon got batted out of these, 
I asked them why they hadn't gone in for 
the handicaps. It appeared that they were 
golfers, and "not having a handicap at 
tennis " had imagined that the rabbit's joys 
were not for them. You know, of course, 
why the inferior players are called " rabbits "*? 

1 ^m^tftfl"? ^f^ews*!* 1 ^ lad y sa 7 t0 



another one day, " I suppose they call us 
rabb ts because we jump about so." This 
seems a very reasonable explanation, and is 
quite probably the correct one. 

In my capacity as a referee I have ample 
opportunities of observing — and I should like 
to bear testimony to — the really wonderful 
work done by the secretaries of tournaments. 
These purely honorary officials work for 
months before their tournament, and I 
should think they never sleep during the 
week it is in progress. At everybody's beck 
and call, they preserve an unruffled mien, 
and have a cheerful smile for everyone, even 
for the grumblers who are to be found every- 
where. I have only once seen a tournament 
secretary really angry. It had rained for 
about two days on end, and was still raining, 
when to our joint tent there entered an 
enterprising person who was desirous of 
selling to the secretary a new and improved 
machine for sprinkling lawns ! It has always 
been a marvel to me how that man got out 
of the ground alive. 

The spectators also supply on their own 
behalf a considerable amount of humour, 
mainly arising from their abysmal ignorance 
of the game. At a very good and exciting 
men's double a year or 
two back, a lady, being 
asked by a new arrival 
what the score was, re- 
plied in a clear and 
resonant voice, " Well, 
this side's ' four all ' ; I 
don't know what the other 
side is." The players, 
overhearing this remark, 
became temporarily so 
disorganized that for the 
next few games they alJ 
played, as one of them 
said afterwards, " like a 
hutch full of rabbits." 

But though intelligent 
appreciation of the points 
of the game seems to be 
denied to many of the 
lookers-on, there is no 
doubt that some of them 
enjoy it much and wor- 
s h i p their favourite 
players to an inordi- 
nate extent. A man 
once came into the secre- 
tary's tent and inquired 
if he might be allowed 

to buy, at the conclusion of the match, 
the balls with which Miss Boothby was then 
playing on court two ; and there is a legend, 
for which I will not vouch, that one of the 
Dohertys, having hung his white duck 
trousers out to dry at a country tournament, 
discovered, when he wanted to wear them 
again, that every button had been removed, 
presumably by enthusiastic admirers in 
search of a memento. Drying arrangements, 
by the way, are often inadequate, and 
at an hotel tournament where they were 
particularly bad I once heard a competitor 
remark that if they would only dry the 
clothes in the same place they kept the 
soda-water all would be well ! 

To close an article on tournaments without 
any mention of Eastbourne, that most 
gigantic winding-up tournament of the season, 
would be absurd. Hither flock players of 
all sorts and conditions, from the very best 
to the very worst, all anxious to have one 
more knock before the grass season closes. 
Twenty years ago this tournament comprised 
about a couple of hundred matches, and was 
run on eight courts. Last year there were 
over eleven hundred matches to be got 
through and twenty-four courts to be kept 
filled — a striking testi- 
mony to the growth of 
the game's popularity. 
With everybody in the 
highest spirits, there is 
always fun to be had at 
Eastbourne, whether in 
watching the play on the 
courts or the reproduc- 
tion of it cinematogra- 
phically in the Devonshire 
Park Theatre in the even- 
ing. As Mecca is to the 
Mohammedan and St. 
Andrews to the golfer, so 
is Eastbourne to the 
lawn- tennis enthusiast, 
and when the last match 
is out of court, even in 
these days of winter play 
on hard courts, the vast 
majority of players put 
away their racquets till 
the sun shines once more 
on the courts at Surbiton 
in the following year. And 
I think from the point of 
view of enjoyment they 
do wisely. 





Illustrated by H. R. Millar, 





HEN the Keeper had thus 
kindly gratified the curiosity 
of the prisoners the Princess 
said, suddenly ; — 

" Couldn't we learn Con- 
cho logy ? " 

And the Keeper said, 
kindly; "Why not? It's the Professor's 
day to-morrow," 

"Couldn't we go there to-day ? " asked the 

Vo,. ,lvi.-29. 

Princess, " Just to arrange about times and 
terms, and all that ? " 

"If my uncle says I may take you there," 
said Ulfin, " I will ; for I have never known 
any pleasure so great as doing anything that 
you wish will give me. But yonder is the 

And Ulfin indexed a stately figure in long 
robes approaching them. 

The ad van ring figure was now quite near. 
It saluted them with Royal courtesy. 

* b We wanted . Jo know/ 1 said Mavis, 




" please your Majesty, if we might have 
lessons from you." 

The King answered, but the Princess did 
not hear. She was speaking with Ulfin apart. 

" Ulfin," she said, il this captive King is 
my father." 

" Yes, Princess," said Ulfin. 

" And he does not know me." 

" He will," said Ulfin, strongly. 

" Did you know ? " 

" Yes '" 

" But the people of your land will punish 

you for bringing us here if they find out that 

he is my father, and that you have brought 

us together. They will kill you. Why did 

you do it, Ulfin ? " 

" Because you wished it, Princess," he 
said, " and because I would rather die for 
you than live without you." 

The children thought they had never seen 
a kinder face or more noble bearing than that 
of the Professor of Conchology, but the Mer- 
Princess could not bear to look at him. 
She now felt what Mavis had felt when Cathy 
failed to recognize her — the misery of being 
looked at without recognition by the eyes 
that we know and love. She turned away, 
and pretended to be looking at the leaves of 
the seaweed hedge while Mavis and Francis 
were arranging to take lessons in Conchology 
three days a week from two to four. 

"Yes," said the Professor; "I am only 
an exiled individual, teaching Conchology 
to youthful aliens, but I retain some remnants 
of the wisdom of my many years. I know 
that I am not what I seem, and that you're 
not either, and that your desire to learn my 
special subject is not sincere and whole- 
hearted, but is merely, or mainly, the cloak 
to some other design. Is it not so, my 

No one answered. His question was so 
plainly addressed to the Princess, and she 
must have felt the question, for she turned 
and said : — 

" Yes, O most wise King." 

" I am no King," said the Professor. 
" Rather I am a weak child picking up pebbles 
by the shore of an infinite sea of know- 

" You are" the Princess was beginning, 
impulsively, when Ulfin interrupted her. 

" Lady, lady ! " he said, " all will be lost. 
Can you not play your part better than this ? 
If you continue these indiscretions, my head 
will undoubtedly pay the forfeit. Not that 
I should for a moment grudge that trifling 
service, but if my head is cut off you will 
be left without a friend in this strange 

Digitized by GoO<?le 

country, and I shall die with the annoying 
consciousness that I shall no longer be able 
to serve you." 

He whispered this into the Princess's ear, 
while the Professor of Conchology looked on 
with mild surprise. 

" Your attendant," he observed, " is 
eloquent, but inaudible." 

" I mean to be," said Ulfin, with a sudden 
change of manner. " Look here, sir ; I don't 
suppose you care what becomes of you." 

" Not in the least," said the Professor. 

" But I suppose you would be sorry if 
anything uncomfortable happened to your 
new pupils ? " 

" Yes," said the Professor, and his eye 
dwelt on Freia. 

" Then please concentrate your powerful 
mind on being a professor. Think of nothing 
else. More depends on this than you can 
easily believe." 

" Believing is easy," said the Professor. 
" To-morrow at two, I think you said." 

And with a grave salutation he turned 
his back on the company and walked away 
through his garden. 

They reached the many-windowed prison, 
gave up their tickets-of-leave, and re-entered 
it. It was not till they were in the salon and 
the evening was over that Bernard spoke of 
what was in every heart. 

"Look here," he said. "I think Ulfin 
means to help us to escape." 

" Do you ? " said Mavis. " What I want 
is to get the Mer-King restored to his sorrowing 

The Mer-Princess pressed her hand affec- 

" So do I," said Francis. " But I want 
something more than that even. I want to 
stop this war. For always." 

" But how can you ? " said the Mer- 
Princess, leaning her elbows on the table. 
" There always has been war, I tell you. 
People would get slack and silly and cowardly 
if there were no wars." 

" If I were King," said Francis, who was 

now thoroughly roused, " there should never 

' be any more wars. There are plenty of 

things to be brave about without hurting 

other brave people." 

" Yes," said Mavis ; " and, oh, Francis, 
I think you're right. But what can we do ? " 

" I shall ask to see the Queen of the Under- 
folk, and try to make her see sense. She 
didn't look an absolute duffer." 

They all gasped at the glorious and simple 
daring of the idea. But the Mer-Princess 
said : — 

Original from 




" I know you'd do everything you could ; 
but it's very difficult to talk to kings unless 
you've been accustomed to it." 

" Then why won't you try talking to the 
Queen ? " 

" I shouldn't dare," said Freia. " I'm 
only a girl-princess. Oh, if only my dear 
father could talk to her ! If he believed it 
possible that war could cease, he could per- 
suade anybody of anything. And of course 
they would start on the same footing — both 
monarchs, you know." 

" I see — like belonging to the same club/' 
said Francis, vaguely. 

" If my father's memory were restored," 
said the Princess, " his wisdom would find 
us a way out of all our difficulties. To find 
Cathy's coat — that is what we have to do." 

" Yes," said Francis, " that's all." 

" Let's call Ulfin," said the Princess, and 
they all scratched on the door of polished 
bird's-eye maple which separated their apart- 
ments from the rest of the prison. 

Ulfin came with all speed. 

" We're holding a council," said Freia, 
" and we want you to help." 

" I know it," said Ulfin. " Tell me your 

And without more ado they told him all. 

" I kiss your hand," said Ulfin, " because 
you give me back my honour, which I was 
willing to lay down, with all else, for the 
Princess to walk on to safety and escape. 
I would have helped you to find the hidden 
coat for her sake alone, and that would have 
been ^sin against my honour and my country, 
but now that I know it is to lead to peace, 
which, warriors as we are, our whole nature 
passionately desires, then I am acting as 
a true and honourable patriot." 

" Do you know where the coats are ? " 
Mavis asked. 

11 They are in the Foreign Curiosities 
Museum," said Ulfin, " strongly guarded. 
But the guards to-morrow are the Horse 
Marines, whose officer is my friend, and when 
I tell him what is toward he will help me/ 
I only ask of you one promise in return : that 
you will not seek to escape, or to return to 
your own country except by the free leave 
and licence of our gracious Sovereign." 

The children easily promised. 

" Then to-morrow," said Ulfin, " shall begin 
the splendid peacfe-plot which shall bring 
our names down, haloed with glory, to re- 
motest ages." 

And next day the children, carrying their 
tickets-of-leave, were led to the great pearl 
and turquoise building which w f as the Museum 

Digitized by G< 

of Foreign Curiosities. The Curator of the 
Museum showed them his treasures with 
pride, and explained them all in the most 
interesting way. 

They were just coming to a large case 
containing something whitish, and labelled 
" Very valuable indeed," when a messenger 
came to tell the Curator that a soldier was 
waiting with valuable curiosities taken as loot 
from the enemy. 

" Excuse me one moment," said the Curator, 
and left them. 

" / arranged that," said Ulfin. " Quick, 
before he returns ; take your coats if you know 
any spell to remove the case." 

The Princess laughed, and laid her hand on 
the glassy dome, which broke and disappeared 
as a bubble does when you touch it. 

The children were already busy pulling the 
coats off the ruby slab where they lay. 

" Here's Cathy's," whispered Mavis. 

The Princess snatched it, and her own pearly 
coat, which in one quick movement she put 
on, and buttoned over Cathy's little folded 
coat, which she held against her. 

" Quick ! " she said. " Put yours on, all 
of you. Take your wet tails in your arms." 

They did. The soldiers at the end of the 
long hall had noticed the movements and 
came charging up towards them. 

" Quick, quick ! " said the Princess. " Now, 
all together. One, two, three. Press your 
third buttons." 

And then an odd thing happened. Out 
of nowhere, as it seemed, a little pearly coat 
appeared, hanging alone in air — water, of 
course, it was really. It seemed to grow and 
to twine itself round Ulfin. 

" Put it on," said a voice from invisibility; 
" put it on." 

And Ulfin did put it on. 

The soldiers were close upon him. 

" Press the third button," cried the Princess, 
and Ulfin did so. But as his right hand sought 
the button the foremost soldier caught his 
left arm, with the bitter cry : — 

" Traitor, I arrest you in the King's name ! " 
and though he could not see that he was 
holding anything, he could feel that he was, 
and he held on. 

" The last button, Ulfin ! " cried the voice 
of the unseen Princess. " Press the last 
button." And next moment the soldier, 
breathless with amazement and terror, was 
looking stupidly at his empty hand. Ulfin, 
as well as the three children and the Princess, 
was not only invisible, but intangible. The 
soldiers could not see or feel anything. 

As the five were invisible and intangible. 




and as the soldiers were neither, it was easy 
to avoid these and to get to the arched door- 
way. The Princess got there first. 

Ulfin was the next to arrive. 

" Are you there ? " said the Princess. 
And he said : — 

" I am here, Princess." 

" We must have connecting links/' she 
said. " Bits of seaweed would do. If you 
hold a piece of seaweed in your hand, I will 
take hold of the other end of it. We cannot 
feel the touch of each other's hands, but we 
shall feel the seaweed, and you will know, 
by its being drawn tight, that I have hold 
of the other end. Get some pieces for the 
children, too, good stout seaweed, such as 
you made the nets of with which you cap- 
tured us." 

" Ah, Princess," he said, " how can I 
regret that enough ? And yet how can 
I regret it at all, since it has brought 
you to me ? " 

" Peace, foolish child," said the Princess, 
and Ulfin's heart leaped for joy, because when 
a princess calls a grown-up man " child," 
it means that she likes him more than a little, 
or else, of course, she would not take such 
a liberty. " But the seaweed," she added. 
" There is no time to lose." 

" I have some in my pocket," said Ulfin, 
blushing, only she could not see that. " They 
keep me busy making nets in my spare time. 
I always have some seaweed in my pocket." 

The bits of seaweed went drifting to the 
barracks, and no one noticed that they 
floated on to the stables and that invisible 
hands loosed the halters of five sea-horses. 

Because it was Tuesday, and nearly two 
o'clock, the Professor of Conchology was 
making ready to receive pupils. He was 
alone in the garden, and as they neared him 
the Princess, the three children, and Ulfin 
touched the necessary buttons and became 
once more visible and tangible. 

" Ha ! " said the Professor, but without 
surprise. " Magic. A very neat trick, my 
dears, and excellently done. You need not 
remove your jacket," he added to Ulfin, who 
was pulling off his pearly coat. " The mental 
exercises in which we propose to engage do 
not require gymnasium costume." 

But Ulfin went on taking off the coat, 
and when it was off he handed it to the 
Princess, who at once felt in its inner pocket, 
pulled out a little golden case, and held it 
towards the Professor. He opened it, and 
without hesitation, as without haste, swal- 
lowed the charm. 

Next moment the Princess was clasped in 

by L^OOgle 

his arms, and the moment after that, still 
clasped there, was beginning a hurried 
explanation. But he stopped her. 

" I know, my child, I know," he said. 
" You have brought me the charm which 
gives back to me my memory and makes 
a King of Merland out of a Professor of 
Conchology. But why, oh, why, did you 
not bring me my coat ? My pearly coat," he 
explained; "it was in the case with the others." 

No one had thought of it, and everyone 
felt and looked exceedingly silly, and no one 
spoke till Ulfin said> holding out the coat which 
the Princess had given back to him : — 

" You will have this coat, Majesty. I have 
no right to the magic garments of your 

" But," said Francis, " you need the coat 
more than anybody. The King shall have 
mine. I sha'n't want it if you'll let me go 
and ask for an interview with the King of 
the Underfolk." 

But the King raised his hand, and there 
was silence, and they saw that. he no longer 
looked like a noble and learned gentleman, 
but that he looked every inch a king. 

" Silence ! " he said. " If anyone speaks 
with the King and Queen of this land, it is 
fitting that I should do so. See, we will go 
out by the back door, so as to avoid the 
other pupils." 

So they made great haste to go out by the 
back way so as not to meet the Conchology 
students, and cautiously crept up to their 
horses, and, of course, the biggest and best 
horse was given to the King to ride. But 
when he saw how awkwardly their false tails 
adapted themselves to the saddle, he said : — 

" My daughter, you can remove those 

" How ? " said she. 

" Bite through the strings of them with 
your little sharp teeth," said the King. 
" Nothing but princess-teeth is sharp enough 
to cut through them. No, my son, it is not 
degrading. A true princess cannot be de- 
graded by anything that is for the good 
of her subjects and her friends." 

So the Princess willingly bit through the 
strings of the false tails, and everybody put 
on its proper tail again, with great comfort 
and enjoyment. And they all swam towards 
the town. 

And as they went they heard a great noise 
of shouting, and saw parties of Underfolk 
flying as if in fear. 

" I must make haste," said the King, 
" and see to it that our Peace Conference 

be not too late," 

Original from 




Merfolk came along the street 
of the city of their foes, and 
on their helmets was the light 
of Victory, and at their head, 
proud and splendid, rode the 
Princess Maia and— Reuben. 

" Oh, Reuben , Reuben, 
We're saved!" called Mavis, 
and would have darted out, 
but Francis put his hand over 
her mouth. 

"Stop!" he said. M Don't 
you remember we promised 
not to escape without the 
Queen's permission ? Quick, 
quick, to the palace, to make 
peace before our armies can 
attack it." 



The Queen of the Undee- 
folk sat with her husband on 

1 - ^* 

So they hurried on. 

And the noise grew louder 
and louder, and the crowds 
of flying Underfolk thicker 
and fleeter j and by and by 
Ulfin made them stand back 
under the arch of the Astra* 
loger's Tower to see what 
it was from which they fled* 
And there, along the streets 
of the great City of the 
Underfolk, came the flash of 
swords and the swirl of 
banners, and the army of the 

Digitized by GGOgle 





the throne. Their sad faces were lighted up 
with pleasure as they watched the gambols 
of their new pet, Fido, a dear little earth- 
child who was playing with a ball of soft 
pink seaweed. 

" I have curious dreams sometimes/ ' said 
the Queen to the King, " dreams so vivid 
that they are more like memories.' ' 

" Has it ever occurred to you," said the 
King, " that we have no memories of our 
childhood or our youth ? " 

" I believe," said the Queen, slowly, " that 
we have tasted in our time of the oblivion- 
cup. There is no one like us in this land. 
If we were born here why can we not remem- 
ber our parents, who must have been like 
us ? And, dearest, the dream that comes to 
me most often is that we once had a child 
and lost it, and that it was a child like us." 

" Fido," said the King, in a low voice, 
" is like us." And he stroked the head of 
Cathy, who had forgotten everything except 
that she was Fido, and bore the Queen's 
name on her collar. " But if you remember 
that we had a child, it cannot be true — if 
we drank of the oblivion - cup, that is — 
because, of course, that would make you 
forget everything." 

" It couldn't make a mother forget her 
child," said the Queen, and she caught up 
Fido- which- was-Cathy and kissed her. 

Even as she spoke the hangings of cloth 
of gold rustled at the touch of someone out- 
side, and a tall figure entered. 

" Bless my soul," said the King of the 
Underfolk, " it's the Professor of Con- 

" No," said the figure, advancing, " it is 
the King of the Mer-people. My brother 
King, my sister Queen, I greet you." 

" This is most irregular," said the King. 

" Never mind, dear," said the Queen. 
" Let us hear what he has to say." 

" I say, let there be peace between our 
people," said the Mer-King. " In countless 
ages these wars have been waged, for countless 
ages your people and mine have suffered. 
Even the origin of the war is lost in the mists 
of antiquity. Now I come to you — I, your 
prisoner. I was given to drink of the cup 
of oblivion, and forget who I was and whence 
I came. Now a counter-charm has given 
me back mind and memory. I come in the 
name of my people. If we have wronged you 
we ask your forgiveness. If you have 
wronged us, we freely forgive you. Say, 
shall it be peace, and shall all the sons of the 
sea live as brothers in love and kindliness 
for evermore ? " 

by L^OOgle 

" Really," said the King of the Underfolk, 
" I think it is not at all a bad idea, but in 
confidence, and between monarchs, my mind 
is so imperfect that I dare not consult it. 
But my heart " 

" Your heart says 'yes/ " said his Queen. 
" So does mine. But our troops are besieging 
your city," she said. " They will say that 
in asking for peace you were paying the 
tribute of the vanquished." 

"My people will not think this of me," 
said the King of Merland, " nor will your 
people think it of you. Let us join hands in 
peace and the love of Royal brethren." 

" What a dreadful noise they are making 
outside ! " said the King, and indeed the noise 
of shouting and singing was now to be heard 
on every side of the palace. 

" If there was a balcony, now, where we 
could show ourselves," suggested the King 
of Merland. 

" The very thing," said the Queen, catching 
up her pet Fido-which-was-Cathy in her arms, 
and leading the way to the great curtained 
arch at the end of the hall. She drew back 
the swinging, sweeping hangings of woven 
seaweed and stepped forth on the balcony, 
the two kings close behind her. But she 
stopped short and staggered back a little, 
so that her husband had to put an arm about 
her to support her, when her first glance 
showed her that the people who were shouting 
outside the palace were not, as she had sup- 
posed, Underfolk in some unexpected though 
welcome transport of loyal enthusiasm, but 
ranks on ranks of the enemy, the hated Mer- 
folk, all splendid and menacing in the pomp 
and circumstance of glorious war. 

" It's the enemy ! " gasped the Queen. 

" It is my people," said the Mer-King. 
" It is a beautiful thing in you, dear Queen, 
that you agreed to peace without terms, 
while you thought you were victorious, and 
not because the legions of the Mer-folk were 
thundering at your gates. May I speak 
for us ? " 

They signed assent. And the Mer-King 
stepped forward full into view of the crowd 
in the street below. 

" My people ! " he said, in a voice loud yet 
soft and very, very beautiful. And at the 
word the Mer-folk below looked up and recog- 
nized their long-lost King, and a shout went 
up that you could have heard a mile away. 

The King raised his hand for silence. 

" My people," he said, " brave men of 
Merland, let there be peace, now and for ever, 
between us and our brave foes. The King 
and Queen of this land agreed to make peace.. 




2 33 

unconditional peace, while they believed 
themselves to be victorious. If victory has 
for to-day been with us, let us at least be 
the equals of our foes in generosity as in 

Another shout rang out. And the King of 
the Underfolk stepped forward. 

" My people," he said, and the Underfolk 
came quickly towards him at the sound of 
his voice. " There shall be peace. Let 
these who were your foes be your guests this 
night and your friends and brothers for ever- 
more. " Now," he went on, " cheer, Mer-folk 
and Underfolk, for the splendid compact of 
peace/ ' 

And they cheered. 

In the palace was a banquet of the Kings 
and the Queen and the Princesses, and the 
three children. Also Reuben was called from 
the command of his Sea-urchins to be a guest 
at the Royal table. Princess Maia asked 
that an invitation might be sent to Ulfin, 
but it was discovered that no Ulfin was to 
be found. 

It was a glorious banquet. Reuben sat 
at the Queen's right hand, and the Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the forces of the Under- 
folk sat at the left hand of his King. The 
King of the Mer-folk sat between his happy 
daughters, and the children sat together 
between the Chief Astrologer and the Curator 
of the Museum of Foreign Curiosities. 

It was at about the middle of the feast 
that a serving fish whispered behind his fin 
to the Underfolk Queen. 

" Certainly," she said. " Show him in." 

And the person who was shown in was 
Ulfin, and he carried on his arm a pearly coat 
and a scaly tail. He sank on one knee and 
held them up to the Mer-King. 

The King took them and, feeling in the 
pocket of the coat, drew out three golden 

44 It is the Royal prerogative to have three," 
he said, smilingly, to the Queen, " in case of 
accidents. May I ask your Majesty's per- 
mission to administer one of them to your 
Majesty's little pet ? I am sure you are 
longing to restore her to her brothers and 
her sister." 

The Queen administered the charm her- 
self, and the moment she had swallowed it 
the Royal arms were loosened, and the 
Queen expected her pet to fly from her to 
her brothers and sister. But to Cathy it 
was as though only an instant had passed 
since she came into that hall, a prisoner. 
So that when suddenly she saw her brothers 
and sister honoured guests at what was 

Digitized by Ci OO^ I C 

unmistakably a very grand and happy 
festival, and found herself in the place of 
honour on the very lap of the Queen, she only 
snuggled closer to that Royal lady, and called 
out very loud and clear, " Halloa, Mavis ! 
Here's a jolly transformation scene ! That 
was a magic drink she gave us, and it's made 
everybody jolly and friends. I am glad. 
You dear Queen," she added. " It is nice 
of you to nurse me." 

So everybody was pleased. Only Princess 
Freia looked sad and puzzled, and her eyes 
followed Ulfin as he bowed and made to retire 
from the Royal presence. He had almost 
reached the door, when she spoke quickly 
in the Royal ear. 

" Oh, father," she said, " don't let him go 
like that. He ought to be at the banquet. 
We couldn't have done anything without 

" True," said the King. " But I thought 
he had been invited, and refused." 

" Refused ? " said the Princess. " Oh, call 
him back." 

" I'll run, if I may," said Mavis, slipping 
out of her place and running down the great 

" If you'll sit a little nearer to me, father," 
said Maia, obligingly, " the young man can 
sit between you and my sister." 

So that is where Ulfin found himself, 
and that was where he had never dared to 
hope to be. 

The banquet was a strange as well as 
a magnificent scene, because, of course, the 
Mer-people were beautiful as the day. The 
five children were quite as beautiful as any 
five children have any need to be, and the 
King and Queen of the Underfolk were as 
handsome as handsome. So that all this 
handsomeness was a very curious contrast 
to the strange, heavy features of the Under- 
folk who now sat at table so pleasant and 
friendly, toasting their late enemies. The 
contrast between the Princess Freia and Ulfin 
was particularly marked, as their heads bent 
near together as they talked. 

" Princess," he was saying, " I shall be 
glad all my life to have known and loved so 
dear and beautiful a princess." 

And the Princess could think of nothing to 

" Princess," he said, " tell me one thing. 
Do you know what I should say to you if 
I were a prince ? " 

" Yes," said Freia, " and I know what I 
should answer, dear Ulfin, if you were only 
a commoner of — I mean, you know, if your 
face were like ours. But since you are of the 





Underfolk, and I am a mermaid, I can only 
say that I will never forget you, and that I 
will never many anyone else." 

"Is it only my face, then, that prevents 
your marrying me?" he asked, with abrupt 
eagerness, and she answered gently, " Of 
course, 31 

Then Ulfin sprang to his feet. 

* ( Your Majesties/ 3 he cried , " and Lord 
High Astrologer, has not the moment come 
when, since we are at a banquet with friends, 
we may unmask ? " 

The Sovereigns and the Astrologer con- 
sented, and then with a rustling and a rattling 
helmets were unlaced and corselets unbuckled. 
The Underfolk seemed to the Mer-people as 
though they were taking off their very skins, 
But really what they took off was but their 
thick scaly armour, and under it they were 
as softly and richly clad and as personable 
people as the Mer-folk themselves. 

" But," said Maia, " how splendid ! We 
thought you were always in armour — that 
—that it grew on you, you know." 

The Under folk laughed jollity. 

*' Of course it was always on us, since 
when you saw us we were always at war." 

11 And you're just like us," said Freia to 

" There is no one like you," he whispered. 

Digitized by G< 

Ulfm was now a handsome, dark- haired 
young man, 

11 Did you mean what you said just now ? " 
the Princess whispered. And for answer 
Ulfin dared to touch her hand with soft, 
firm fingers. 

" Papa," said Freia, " please may I marry 
Ulfin ? " 

" By all means," said the King, and imme- 
diately announced the engagement, joining 
their hands and giving them his blessing. 

Then said the Queen of the Underfolk: — 

" Why should not these two reign over the 
Underfolk, and let us two be allowed to re- 
member the things we have forgotten , and 
go back to that other life which I know we 
had somewhere — where we had a child ? " 

" I have only one charm left, unfor- 
tunately /' said the King, u but if your people 
will agree to your abdicating, I w r ill divide 
it between you w r ith pleasure, and 1 have 
reason to believe that the half which you 
will each have will be just enough to restore 
to you all the memories of your other life." 

The Astrologer-Royal, who had been whis- 
pering to Reuben, here interposed. 

" It would be well, your Majesties," he said. 
" if a small allowance of the cup of oblivion 
were served out to these land-children, so that 
they may not remember their adventures here. 




It is not well for the earth-people to know too 
much of the dwellers In the sea. There is a 
sacred vessel which has long been preserved 
among the civic plate. I propose that this 
vessel should be conferred on our guests as 
a mark of our esteem ; that they should bear 
it with them, and drink the contents as soon 
as they set foot on their own shores," 

He was at once sent to fetch the sacred 
vessel. It was a stone ginger-beer bottle. 

There were farewells to be said, a very 
loving farewell to the Princesses, a very 
friendly one to the fortunate Ulfin, and then 
a little party left the palace quietly, and for 
the last time made the journey to the quiet 
spot where the King of Merland had so 
long professed Conchology, 

Arrived at this spot, the King spoke to the 
King and Queen of the UnderfoIL 

14 Swallow this charm," he said, " in equal 
shares, then rise to the surface of the lake 
and say the charm which I perceive the earth- 
children have taught you as we came along. 
The rest will be easy and beautiful. We shall 
never forget you. Farewell," 

The King and Queen rose through the 
waters and disappears l h 

Next moment a strong attraction like that 
which needles feel for magnets drew the 
children from the side of the Mer-King. 
They shut their eyes, and when they 
opened them they were on dry land, in a 
wuod by a lake, and Francis had a ginger- 
beer bottle in his hand, 

" It works more slowly on land, the 
Astrologer said/' Reuben remarked, " Btf ore 

we drink and forget every- 
thing I want to tell you that 
I think you've all been real 
bricks to me. And if you 
don't mind , I'll take off these 
girl's things." 

He did, appearing in shirt 
and trousers. 

" Good-bye/* he said, shak- 
ing hands with everyone. 

" But aren't you coming 
home with us ? *' 

"No/' he said. "The 
Astrologer told me the first 
man and woman I should 
see on land would be my long- 
lost father and mother. And 
I was to go straight to them 
with my little shirt and my 
little shoe that IVe kept all 
this time, and they'd know 
me, and I should belong 
to them. But I hope we'll 
meet again some day. Good-bye/' 

With that they drank each a draught 
from the ginger-beer bottle, and then, making 
haste to act before the oblivion -cup should 
blot out, with other things, the Astrologer's 
advice, Reuben went out of the wood into 
the sunshine and across a green turf. They 
saw him speak to a man and woman in blue 
bathing-dresses, who seemed to have been 
swimming in the lake, and were now resting 
on the marble steps that led down to it. 
He held out the little shirt and the little 
shoe, and they held their hands out to him. 
And us they turned the children saw that 
their faces were the faces of the King and 
Queen of the Under folk, only now not sad 
any more, but radiant with happiness. 

And then the oblivion -cup took effect, 
and they forgot, and forgot forever, the won- 
derful world that they had known under-seas. 
But Reuben, curiously enough, they did 
not forget ; they went home to tea with 
a pleasant story for their father and mother 
of a spangled boy at the circus who had run 
away and found his father and mother. 

And two days after a motor stopped at 
their gate and Reuben got out, 

u I say/' he said, " Tve found my father 
and mother, and we've come to thank you 
for the plum-pie and t lungs, (ome and see 
my father and mother/ 1 he ended, proudly. 

The children went, and looked once more 
in the faces of the King and Queen, but now 
they did not know those faces, which seemed 
to them only the faces of some very nice 

k ' Original from 




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If w 
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me : 






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the 1 

11 > 

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I can 
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shall i 
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for ev 

" Sherlock Holmes" in Egypt. 


Illustrations by J. Cameron, and from Photographs. 


ETECTIVE stories are so much 
to the taste of the reading 
public at present that a short 
account of some detective 
methods in Egypt may be 
The officers of justice in 
Egypt employ an agency to further their 
ends the methods of which are foreign to 
our ideas., and display an intelligence which 
is new to most of us, and recalls the methods 
of Sherlock Holmes or of the Red Indians in 
the novels of Fen i more Cooper, 

This agency is known as Bedouin Trackers, 
and a very remarkable and interesting case, 
illustrating their methods, has recently come 
under my personal observation. 

I am paying a visit to the director of a 
large Government institution, situated not 
very far from Cairo on the borders of the 
desert, and outside the confines of European 
civilization. It is surrounded by a wire 
fence, and within its area of six hundred acres 
is contained a settlement which forms the 
residence of a large staff. The members of 
this staff are almost entirely natives, and in 
such a population there are constant changes, 
and among those who have been discharged 
for misconduct or incompetence there are 
doubtless manv who cherish a feeling of 

y Google 

resentment against the authorities of the 

An incident recently occurred pointing tf> 
some such feeling on the part of some persons 
who were evidently conversant with the 
routine of the institution. 

It is the practice at the beginning of each 
month to bring down from the Ministry of 
Finance the money required for the pay oi 
the employes. This money, amounting to 
some hundreds of pounds, is kept for a few 
days in a safe in the office, and disbursed on 
a fixed day. This was common knowledge 
among the staff, who also knew that the 
premises were guarded, not only by a night 
watchman, who sleeps there and has charge 
of the keys of the offices, hut also by a night 
porter, who patrols the building, marking a 
time clock every two hours, 

One morning lately we were informed that 
the safe, which is built into the wall of the 
office, had been attempted during the night 
hv some persons who had evidently intended 
to carry it off, in the interval between two 
of the porter's rounds. 

It so happens that this safe, which is a 
small one, had for some time stood upon a 
pedestal, but a few days previously hati imm 
built into the wall for greater security. This 
fact was apparently unknown to the would-be 



2 37 


thieves, for they brought with them no tools 
sufficient for the formidable task of removing 
the rnasonrv, and the attempt consequently 

The excitement following upon this dis- 
covery was , of course j considerable, The 
police at the neighbouring town, some six 

miles off , were 
commu nicated 
with, and they 
speedily arrived 
on the scene j 
accompanied by 
two of the prin- 
cipal " trackers." 
These men are 
Bedouins j who are 
educated to the 
practice of obser- 
vation from their 
earliest infancy, 
and consequently 
display an amount 
of intelligence in 
this respect little 
short of marvel- 
lous. The hole in 
the fence by which 
the robbers made 
their entry had 
been found, and 
the ground on 
both sides of the 
fence had been 
kept carefully 
clear until the 
trackers arrived. 

We watched 
them examining 
the ground t but 
were unable to 
form any idea of their impressions. They 
wandered j^ backwards and forwards in an 
apparently aimless manner, and at last 
went off slowly to a considerable distance. 
They spent some time m their investiga- 
tions, but when they returned to make 
their report it was somewhat startling. 





It was to the effect that the gang consisted 
of ten men — seven in boots, two in socks, and 
one with bare feet, all armed, who had come 
through the fence to the back door of the 
office. They were provided with heavy 
clothing or wrappers, which they had left 
outside the fence and carried away on their 
return, presumably for the purpose of wrap- 
ping up the safe for removal The trackers 
were quite prepared to identify any of the 
footprints, hut they observed that, on ap- 
proaching the fence, the thieves had endea- 
voured to queer the pitch, so to speak, by 
twisting on the ball of the foot at each step. 
Seeing, however, that they were tracked for a 

considerable distance in the direction of a 
neighbouring village, this expedient was not 
of much avaih 

The next step was to ask the authorities 
of the institution for the names of any dis- 
charged employes who might be suspected of 
complicity. The presumption was that the 
inside staff were innocent, for the gang, who 
knew the night routine, were evidently unpre- 
pared for the safe having been recently 

A number of names were accordingly given, 
and the police, who had brought a native 
magistrate with them, at once got him to 
sign warrants, and the men were sent for. 

The procedure on 
their arrival was suffi- 
ciently amazing. The 
suspects were ranged 
in a row before an open 
space of sand. One of 
the police, with a bar 
of wood, smoothed out 
all old footmarks, and 
the men were ordered 
to walk across it. The 
trackers then examined 
the footmarks, and at 
once declared that one 
of them was the bare- 
footed man. He was 
accordingly removed to 
jail, and may he the 
means of tracing the 
whole gang. 

The episode was par- 
ticularly interesting to 
me, for I had often 
heard of these trackers 
and their performances, 
but this was the first 
occasion on which I 
had been able to see 
them at work. 

Their powers, how- 
ever, are only slightly 
shadowed forth by the 
performance I have 
described. Some years 
ago I met at dinner the 
Chief of the Frontier 
Police, Colonel Dum- 
reicher, and his account 
of the performances of 
these trackers on coast- 
guard duty was abso- 
lutely amazing. He 



told us of the track- 

WAS A WOUNDED MAN, WHU-E THE OTHER WAS DEAD. 1 ' ing, for da\'S tOgethe^ 

f unginai rromr 




of a pang of murderers who 
had tarried off the bodies of 
two of their victims, The 
trackers were able to detect the 
fact that one of the bodies car- 
ried off was a wounded man, 
while the other was dead, and 
where the murderers buried him 
his grave was duly found. The 
fact of one man being dead and 
the other living they were able 
to deduce from the blood -murks 
at the various halting- places. 
Thus they are not only able to 
tell human blood from that of 
an animal, which I understand 
they do by the smell, but actu- 
ally to decide whether it comes 
from a living or a dead body. 

In the case I am alluding to 
the wounded man, who eventu- 
ally became troublesome, was 
also murdered and buried, and, to make 
a long story short, the police were eventually 
able to bring all the gang to justice. That, 
however, they never could have done but for 
the help of the trackers in the first instance. 

Colonel Dumreicher has very kindly placed 
at my disposal some notes on the subject, 
from which I have taken a few excerpts. 
They put the matter more clearly than I can 
do, being based upon long personal experience. 

He points out that tracking is a science. 
To observe and remember marks accurately, 
and to draw from them the proper inferences, 
is an important part of a Bedouin's educa- 
tion. He begins it as a baby when he goes 
with his mother to mind the flock, and before 
he can count his fingers he knows the indi- 
vidual track of every animal in that flock, 
to say nothing of others, 

As soon as he can walk he is sent to bring 
in the laggards and the strayed ; and as 
animals in the desert are constantly dis- 
appearing he puts his know ledge to a practical 
te^t from the very first* When he grows older 
he is sent farther afield, to carry food, per- 
haps, or a message, to an uncle or brother, 
who is feeding his flock in a distant wady; 
or it may be in search of a strayed camel, 
which lie may have to follow for days before 
he even gets a glimpse of it. When he 
acquires a gun the tracks of a gazelle or ibex 
interest him, and he learns to follow them 
even over granite. Above all, he learns to 
notice the tracks of men. From earliest 
childhood he is taught to recognize the foot- 
prints of the family, and as time goes on and 
experience grows his store of knowledge 



increases. It becomes second nature to him 
not to pass unnoticed the track of a man or 
woman ; and so, when he comes upon one 
which he has seen before, he knows whether 
it belongs to a friend or an enemy, a relative 
or acquaintance. In short, a knowledge of 
tracks is not the secret of an initiated few 
but rather the general lore of the desert and 
the common heritage of all who dwell there. 
Without it they rould neither keep their 
property safe nor recover it if strayed or 
stolen ; their friendship would be without 
value, their enmity contemptible, for they 
wouli be able neither to ward nor strike. To 
possess it is the essential condition of their 
mode of existence. 

The science of tracking, however, involves 
far more than the mere recognizing of known 
footprints. The expert will tell you from the 
examination of a track the time of day when 
the impression was made. The tracks of men 
and camels walking in the dark are different 
from those made during the day ; they arc 
less straight, lead over hard ground, and 
stumble over stones and bushes. 

In the early morning, when dew is falling, 
more sand is thrown out of a track than 
when the desert is dry, and such sand remains 
clotted , and the whole track has for the first 
two days a reddish appearance. 

In the morning and late afternoon, when 

the sand is cool and pleasant, Bedouins 

generally walk without sandals, but they put 

them on when the sand gets warm, Then 

at midday caravans generally take a few 

hours 1 rest, and the traces of this are easily 

noticeable,. r r _ _ 

Original from 




A track has an individuality of its own, 
which distinguishes it from all other marks 
whatsoever ; no two men or animals leave 
the same record in the sand, and no man or 
animal can leave any record but that which 
is personal and peculiar to himself. For the 
Bedouin, or other desert man, each com- 
bination is a tiling as truly individual and 
as little to be confounded with anything else 
as a face or picture, and when he has examined 
and fixed it in his memory he is able to recog- 
nize it again under all its changes of appear- 
ance, He will identify the tracks of a full- 
grown camel as those of an animal of whose 
prints he had taken notice when it was two 
years old ; and this with as little difficulty 
as an ordinary person experiences in recog- 
nizing a man he has known as a boy. 

For example : A Maaza £uide in the employ 
of the Frontier Police asked for a fortnight's 
leave, He said that his sister had requested 
him to look for a four- year- old camel which 
was grazing in the Arabian Desert } and had 
not been heard of 
for over five months* 
He had known the 
tracks of this camel 
when it was a two- 
year - old, but had 
not seen it since, He 
got the leave and 
found the camel 

One of their best 
trackers, one Hussein 
Fares, was remark- 
able for his powers 
of d is ting u ishing 
camel tracks. He 
could even imitate 
them with his hands. 
The other track lts 
used to amuse them- 
selves by covering 
up with sand half 
the footprint of a 
camel, obliterating 
all the other foot- 
prints, but he was 
generally able to 
name the camel to 
which the track 


A final illustration is that of a smart piece of 
tracking by a Maaza woman, told by Mr, S. 
Royle. " There were five flocks of sheep and 
goats, averaging perhaps ninety to a hundred 
and fifty head each, watering at a well where 
we were at the same time. They started off 
in different directions, and shortly afterwards 
this woman turned up. On asking what she 
wanted, she said that three of her goats had 
gone off with some other flocks, and she cut 
the tracks of all of them and found to whir \ 
flock her goats had attached themselves and 
went and got them, although the flocks by 
that time were out of sij^ht. She passed us on 
her return quite unaware that she had done 
anything remarkable." 

Seeing how valuable the services of these 
men are to the Frontier Police, it is unfortu- 
nate that the legal mind, as found in the 
" Parquet," or Court for Criminal Cases, 
refuses to believe in the value of their evidence, 
and the consequence is that numbers of crimi- 
nals who are traced by these men are let off 

for want of legal 
proof. The lawyer 
cannot understand 
that a lifelong train- 
ing renders these 
men perspicacious to 
an incredible degree 
in this particulur 
line, and they can- 
not, moreover, 
understand the frame 
of mind of the 
Bedouin as he reads 
tracks. To him the 
evidence of the 
tracks is quite clear, 
and tt is as difficult 
for him to believe 
that the untrained 
eye cannot check the 
details of his evi- 
dence, when the foot- 
print itself stares 
you in the face, as 
it is for the mere 
lawyer to appreciate 
the significance of 
what is so plain to 
the desert man. 

by Google 

Original from 


[ We shall he glad io receive Contributions to this jorffej*, and to pay far such as are accepted*] 


FROM time Lo time 
one comes acrnvi 
extraordinary houses of 
eve ry desc r i prion — rock 
houses, bouses built in 
trees, or houses denned 
In the form of a vessel, or 
some equally unusual 
design* Perhaps Portugal 
takes the palm for a curi- 
ous method of construct- 
ing the ordinary every- 
day house. In that country* 
notably in Oporto, the 
tourist will observe that 
the three outside walls, 
the interior walls, the 
floors, an 1 the rocf of a 
house are built first, leav- 
ing the (rent of the house 

mg the twelve, letters. Over 
the dial is a semaphore. 
Twice daily the clock per- 
forms three essentials to 
safe railroading. Promptly 
at io a.m. and at 4 p.m. 
the semaphore drops to 
green* this being the signal 
to the engineer to go ahead 
with caution. Then a 
whistle blows twice, which 
is the engineer's signal 
that he sees the warning 
of the man in the tower. 
When the whistle subsides 
a bell rings, this being a 
reminder that no loco- 
motive must be started 
before a bell is rung* After 
the bell stops a curtain 
falls from the rear of the. 
clock on which are printed 
ten "Safety First Don'ts." 
— Mr.CLat,Wime!m,The 
Star, Baltimore, IL5-A- 

open." IhU 13 due to a pecu- 
liar custom, under which it 
is necessary to secure the 
special permission of the rity 
authorities before the front 
of a house can be pat in. 
Pending this, operations are 
carried on as far as possible, 
and so it is a very common 
sight to see buildings in the 
condition shown in the iibove 
photograph. Per mis ii >n has 
just been granted, in this 
instance, to put in the front, 
a section of which is already 
in position. — Mr. AAV, Cutler, 
ku*o }lill House, Worcester, 

T^HE photograph below is one I took from the tcp 
of a new iron chimney-stack, seventy -two feet 
high, the summit being attained by means of an iron 
ladder attached inside the chimney. The seeming 
pallor on the face of the " jack " below me, who 
accompanied me up, may have been caused through 
his expectation that at any moment he might have 
had to break mv fall on my downward journey.— Mr. 
T. A. Cantle. 55, Devonshire Road, West bury Park, 


TRULY remarkable is the 
unique clock constructed 
in his spare moments by Mr. 
C, W. Egan, general claim 
agent of the Baltimore and 
Ohio Railroad, and a leader 
in the '* Safely " move- 
ment recently started by that 
railroad. Replacing the 

numerals on the clock, which 
is six feet high, arc the letters 
contained in the words 
"Safety First." Across the 
face of the clock arc the 
words " Baltimore and Ohio 
Kailmud," the letter - B " of 
the first word replacing the 
numeral <b o p '* thus complete 





guests, when Johnny* floating on a 
lit Ue piece of cork, came out of his 
cellar, and in this way the guests were 
informed of the happy news. If Johnny 
came out quietly and without diffi- 
culty it was considered that the child 
would be orosperous and healthy. — 
Mr. D* Oc\.*£e, 80, Zcestraat, The 
Hague, Holland. 


^T^IIIS photograph gives some idea of the extra- 
^ ordinary windings of a Sicilian road* It is all 
one road, and leads from St. Alessio to the mountain 
village of Forza D'Agm — a distance, j>erhaps, of a 
mile and a half as the crow flies * but if you follow this 
road it will take two hours to get there. The picture 
was secured by walking to the edge of a precipice near 
Forza D'Agro and pointing the camera downwards. 
Cast el lo St. Alessio is seen on the right, — Mr* A. W. 
Cutler, Rose Hill House, Worcester, 

EKE is a cutting from an Ameri- 
can paper illustrating an extra- 
ordinary method of gelling round the 
poster censor. In the Texas town where 
the bill was posted there is a prohibi- 
tion again at the illustration of revolvers, so the 
weapons in the hands of the outlaws in the accompany- 
ing picture have been painted over and bouquets of 
flowers substituted. The e fleet is ludicrous in the ex* 
trcme. — Mr. W. A. Williamson, no, Castellain 
Maiiiin:i-. Muida Vale, London, W. 


IN I he sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Holland 
a cup called ki Johnny in the Cellar ** was to be 
found in nearly every 
household. It was of 
silver, and was used 
i 1 1 th e f ol I ow i ng ci re u in- 
stances. When a young 
wife was about to 
become a mother, her 
husband arranged a 
festive dinner, inviting 
all their relatives to 
assist. Towards the 
end of the dinner the 
Cup, filled with wine, 
tfas presented to the 


a UAiuur win i wings, 

AM sending vnu a photograph of a rabbit with 
wings, the property of Mr. George Levin, of 
Easihourne. When this 
photograph was taken 
the animal was four 
months old. Its win^s, 
which measure twenty- 
six inches across, are, 
of rourse, no use for fly- 
ing purposes, but are 
no hindrance when it 
walks, It has eight feet, 
but the extra four are 
not developed. — Mr. A, 
R, Festd, 49, Terminus 
Road, Eastbourne, 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




n- ■§■ ^h t nnn r Original tram 





Pkotograpks by HERBERT G. PONTING, RR.G.S., Camera Artirt 
to the Expedition, except where otherwise indicated. 

These articles are related from the journals of Captain Scott, and give the first 
connected story of the British Antarctic Expedition, 1910' 1913. The story has 
been told from the journals by Mr. Leonard Huxley, well known as the biographer 
of his celebrated father, and carefully read and revised by Commander Evans, 
R.N. With few exceptions, all the photographs, which have been selected 
from many hundreds, are here published for the first time. 


Heading Straight for the Pole. 

HUS early the ponies had to 
receive their full loads from 
these motor - sledges. But 
" with their full loads the 
ponies did splendidly ; even 
Jehu and Chinaman, with 
loads over four hundred and 
fifty pounds, stepped out well, and have 
finished as fit as when they started. 

" The better ponies made nothing of their 
loads, and my own Snippets had over seven 
hundred pounds, sledge included. Of course, 
the surface is greatly improved ; it is that 
over which we came well last year. We are 

all much cheered by this performance. It 
shows a hardening up of the ponies, which 
have been well trained ; even Oates is 
pleased ! " 

Now also befell the first of the bad weather. 
"As we came to camp a blizzard threatened 
and we built snow walls. The ponies seem 
very comfortable. Their new rugs cover 
them well and the sheltering walls are as high 
as the animals, so that the wind is practically 
unfelt behind them. This protection is a 
direct result of our experience of last year, and 
it is good to feel that we reaped some reward 
for that disastrous journey. I am writing 
late in the day and the wind is still strong. 
I fear we shall root be able to go on to-night. 

Vol xlvu— 31. Copyright, 1913, by " Everybody's Magazine," in the United Staftss of America. 



" The temperature, - 5^ is lower than I 
like in a blizzard/' But the blizzard lasted 
two days ; as it continued, it seemed to 
have a withering effect on the poor beasts, 
the driving particles of snow bombarding 
tender spots like nostrils and eyes, and 
preventing rest. Vet " to my surprise, 
when the rugs were stripped from the 
1 crocks ' they appeared quite fresh and fit. 
Both Jehu and Chinaman had a skittish 
little run when their heads wctc loose. 
Chinaman indulged in a playful buck. All 
three started with their loads at a brisk pace. 
It was a great relief to find that they had not 
suffered at all from the blizzard. They went 
out six geographical miles, and our section 
going at a good round pace found them 
encamped as usual. After they had gone we 
waited for the rearguard to come up and 
joined with them, For the next five miles 
the bunch of seven kept together in fine style, 
and with wind dropping, sun gaining in power, 
and ponies going well, the march was a real 
pleasure. One gained confidence every 
moment in the animals ; they brought along 



their heavy loads without a hint of tiredness. 
All take the patches of soft snow with an easy 
stride, not bothering themselves at alt The 
majority halt now and again to get a mouthful 
of snow, but little Christopher goes through 
with a non-stop run.*' 

The blizzard once over, all was full of 
promise. il We are picking up last year's 
cairns with great ease and all show up very 
distinctly. This is extremely satisfactory for 
the homeward march. , , , Everyone is as fit 
as can be, . . , Men and ponies revel in such 
weather. One devoutly hopes for a {*ood 
spell of it as w r e recede from the windy 
Northern region," 

Fickle gleam of hope ! This was November 
9th, and even then i( There is an annoying 
little southerly wind blowing now, and this 
serves to show the beauty of our snow walls. 
The ponies are standing under their lee in the 
bright sun as comfortable as can possibly be/* 

"Very Horrid Marches," 

But rfrfUIUBd/ f Kffl is the first of four 






" very horrid marches," with a strong head 
wind at first ; then a snowstorm* Next day 
the new snow lay soft — while they entered 
on an area of soft crust between a few hard 
wind-ridges (sastrugi), in pits between which 
here and there the snow lay in sandy heaps. 
The ponies gave great anxiety— despite the 
care they had received conditions had been 
sadly against them since leaving New 
Zealand ; ** if they pull through well all the 
thanks will be due to Dates." 

Even on November 14th, when the sun 
reappeared, It was painful struggling on 
through this snow, and even " Christopher 
has now* been harnessed three times without 
difficulty." In the long-continued mist, so 
different from former experiences, " had we 
been dependent on landmarks we should have 
fared ill/' Happily the cairns that marked 
the way were distinguishable, and One Ton 
Camp, one hundred and twenty - nine 
geographical miles from the start, was found 
without any difficulty on November 15th* 

Here was a note from Evans saying that 
he had gone on with his party " man-hauling " 

their sledge to the rendezvous at 
8o° 30'. * l He has done something 
over thirty miles (geographical) in 
two and a half days — exceedingly 
good going, I only hope he has 
built lots of cairns/' i.t t) to ease 
the task of guiding the main party. 
Here, too, was the minimum ther- 
mometer left the previous year, 
recording - 73 , 

The ponies got a day's rest j the 
loads were readjusted ; five hun- 
dred and eighty pounds on the 
sledges of the stronger beasts, four 
hundred pounds odd with the 
others. Already "the weakness of 
breeding and age is showing itself " 
— and the surface grew worse the 
following days. 

On November 21st they came up 
with the ex-motor party, who con- 
tinued with them for three days, 
It was not till the 54th, with some 
one hundred and forty miles still 
to the Glacier, that the first of the 
" crocks" was killed, providing four 
feeds for the dogs, 

From the 25th onwards the start 
was made successively later at 
night, so as to lead up to the day 
routine of the final party when 
the Glacier should be reached, A 
spell of fair weather w F as followed 
by three days of " summer 
blizzard " (26th, 27th, 28th) through which 
necessity impelled the travellers. " A tired 
animal makes a tired man " ; and even with 
better weather on the 29th and 30th the 
surface was bad. By December 1st it was 
a question of days with most of the ponies, 
and the weakest were killed. Their duty was 
to draw* supplies across the Barrier as long as 
forage lasted and supply food for the dog- 
teams at the end* 

December 2nd, " Wild, in his diary 
of Shackle ton's journey, remarks on 
December 15th that it is the first day for 
a month that he could not record splendid 
weather. With us a fine day litis been the 
exception so far" ; and next day : " Our luck 
in weather is preposterous." It blew a full 
gale from the south from 4.30 a.m. to 
12.30. 1£ It is really time the luck turned 
in our favour/' 

On December 4th, after a morning blizzard, 
he writes : " Looking from the last camp 
towards the S.S,E.. where the farthest land 
can be seen, it .seemed mere than probable 
that a v^-^ft ^^^^jreached on 



^__iS*_ , — _ ,h. _ ***<* j^_ j5urf *c_e 8Q> 80* 3 £ r 8l*r_ 

* Ponies t&ke on 
extra* loads from 
mo Tors. 




12 men.lOPorties 
a n d d o 4> s 
arrive Nov 15. 
depart Novl7 
fA Day's Rest) 

4 men ( l-ne 
ex-mofor party 
wait here 6 h 

days unlil NovZl*!, 
For main party* 
Foil Parry of 

IG men ,10 ponies* 
and do^s £0 




the Barrier, and if Amundsen journeying that 
way has a stroke of luck, he may well find 
his summit journey reduced to one hundred 
miles or sp. In any case it is a fascinating 
direction for next year's work if only fresh 
transport arrives/' 

Here he showed true geographical insight, 
no less than splendid confidence for the 
future. Indeed they had done well ; on these 
" two wretched days " they had only lost five 
or six miles on their scheduled time-table. 
Nevertheless the skies augured ill ; 4i One has 
a horrid feeling that this is a real bad season," 
A prophetic sense indeed. From the " gate- 
way " of the Glacier came ominous puffs of 
wind ; December 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, a 
''raging, howling" blizzard continued, with 
the typical fine powdery snow, and the 
temperature so high that the snow clung 
where it touched, and melted on anything but 
the snow. Tents, clothes, sleeping-bags were 
soaked, with prospect of infinite discomfort 
if a cold snap came before things could be 
dried. Worse still, the delay. Still twelve 
miles from the Glacier, they had to begin on 
the rations calculated to carry them forward 
from an advanced depot. The check was 
outside calculation : "the margin for bad 
weather was ample according to all experience, 
and this stormy December— our finest month 
— is a thing that the most cautious organizer 
might not have been prepared to encounter." 

December c>th they managed to get away ; 
" a most painful day*" After an almost 
hopeless struggle the situation was saved by 
Petty Officer Evans, who put the last pair of 
snow-shoes on Snatcher, so that he was able 
to lead j making a track for the other ponies. 

It w as the last effort ; the forage w r as already 
spent ; and at this camp — " Shambles Camp " 
—a mile below the gateway — the beasts were 

shot. * 


It is hard to have to kill them so 

The Ascent of the Glacier. 

December 10th. The first stage of the 
journey, four hundred and twenty-four miles 
over the Barrier ice, w ? as ended. On the 
fortieth day out — a week behind schedule — 
began the second stage, the ascent of the 
Glacier, which took twelve days of the 
most strenuous exertion. The surface was 
* ( appalling " ; that they got forward with 
their loads was " mainly due to the ski," 

Loads were readjusted ; for the first day 
and a half the dog-team pulled s:x lundred 
poundSj besides two hundred pounds to be 
left in the depot when they returned^ and 
their loads were distributed among the man- 
hauled sledges. 

The start bettered expectation . u the 
day was gloriously fine, and we were soon 
perspiring* After the first mile w T e began to 
rise ? and for some way a steep slope ; we held 
to our ski and kept going. Then the slope 
got steeper and the surface much worse, and 
we had to take off our ski. The pulling after 
this was extraordinarily fatiguing* We sank 
below our finnesko everywhere, and in places 
nearly to our knees. The runners of the 
sledges got coated with a thin film of ice 
from which we could not free them, and the 
sledges themselves sank to the cross-bars in 
soft spots*, .All the time they were literally 
ploughing the snow r . We reached the top of 

Diversity of Michigan 



Fopf of fpe 


Nov 26*27* 28* Bad Weather 

ews sa*v *- -■* • %|v 

1 ~ ' — * - t- T* & — " 

Nov25 m E^Pony 3?Pony Two more 

Day An cd Hooper , killed. killed. Pontes 

of the ex-motor killed 
parly* now return, 

.^ DecSllB* 

14 men, FoorDays 

Q ponies and Delay- 

dofa^oforwArd. R f \<Jin^ 



from Base 

J Rcmainin<J 5 
A Ponies killed 

S3* 3D' 

12 Men 

hauling sledges, 
and 2 Men 

driving dojs , 
$0 forward. 


the slope at five and started on after tea on 
the down grade. On this we had to pull 
almost as hard as on the upward slope, but 
could just manage to pet along on sjri. 
We camped at 9.15, when a heavy wind 
coming down the Glacier suddenly fell on us, 
but I had decided to camp before, as Evans's 
party could not keep up/ 1 Those who had 
hauled a sledge since the motors broke down 
four hum'red miles away were naturally not 
so fresh as the others* u As for myself I 
never felt fitter, and my party can easily 
hold its own, Evans (P,Q.), of course, is a 
tower of strength ? but Oates and Wilson are 
doing splendidly also. 

" All this soft snow is an aftermath of our 
prolonged storm. Hereabouts Shackleton 
found hard blue ice. It seems an extra- 
ordinary difference in fortune, and at every 
step S.'s luck becomes more evident." 

A Graphic Picture of Sledge-Troubles, 

December nth. The lower Glacier depot 
made, the dog-team came up a four hours* 
march before finally turning homewards. 
The loads were transhipped. An anxious 
moment ensued, followed by difficulties first 
with one team, then with another. 

" Could we pull our full loads or not ? 
My own party got away firsthand, to my joy, 
I found we could make fairly good headway. 
Every now and again the sledge sank in a 
soft patch which brought us up, but we 
learned to treat such occasions with patience. 
We got sideways to the sledge and hauled it 
out, Evans getting out of his ski to get better 
purchase. The great thing is to keep the 
sledge moving, and for ^n hour or more then? 

were dozens of critical moments when it all 
but stopped, and not a few when it brought 
up altogether. The latter were very trying 
and tiring. But suddenly the surface grew 
more uniform and we more accustomed to the 
game, for after a long stop to let the other 
parties come up I started at six and ran on 
till seven, pulling easily without a halt at 
the rate of about two miles an hour, I was 
very jubilant ; all difficulties seemed to be 
vanishing ; but unfortunately our history 
was not repeated. One team had a man 
hampered by a touch of snow-blindness, the 
other had not quite mastered the trick of 
getting under way again after checking in 
the soft snow." 

But next morning, the 12th. it was the turn 
of Scott's own team to s< make the heaviest 
weather of the work. We got bogged again 
and again, and, do what we would, the sledge 
dragged like lead. The others were working 
hard, but nothing to be compared with us. 
At 2.30 I halted for lunch pretty well 
cooked, and there was disclosed the secret of 
our trouble in a thin film with some hard 
knots of ice on the runners, Evans's team 
had been sent off in advance, and we didn't 
—couldn't !— catch them, but they saw us 
camp and break camp, and followed suit. 
I really dreaded starting after lunch, but 
after some trouble to break the sledge out we 
went ahead without a hitch, and in a mile or 
two recovered our leading place with obvious 
ability to keep it, 

" It is evident that what I expected has 
occurred, The whole of the lower valley is 
filled with snow from the recent storm, and 

if wc hM'Mm ***** 



bogged. On foot one sinks to the knees, and, 
if pulling on a sledge, to half-way between 
knee and thigh. It would, therefore, be 
absolutely impossible to advance on foot 
with our loads. Considering all things, we 
are getting better on ski. 

their shoes into our tent this morning, and 
P.O. Evans put them into shape again. 5 * 

December 13th. They only made four 
miles. There was a new crust in patches ; 
when the pullers ^ot on these they slipped 
back, The sledges plunged into the soft 




" We are about five or five and a half days 
behind Shackleton as a result of the storm, 
but on this surface our sledges could not be 
more heavily laden than they are, Evans's 
party kept up much better to-day; we had 

places and stopped dead. One party helped 
another at such stops till the double work 
proved altogether too much. Scott's party, 
the most efficient of the three that day, 
spent three hours fitting the ten-foot runners 



: 5 [ 



under the cross-bars— but without delaying others and offered to take on more weight, 
the cithers — so slow was the general progress, but Evans's pride wouldn't allow .such help. 

The sun was hot, the 
snow without " glide, ,? 
the men soaked in per- 
spiration. They overtook 
the others, who were 
reduced to relay work ; 
but 4t the toil was simply 

Indigestion, wet clothes, 
and cramp after such 
labour produced a bad 
night : but on the 14th, 
two thousand feet up, 
things began to improve, 
" After the first two 
hundred yards my own 
party came on with a 
swing that told me at 
once that all would be 

well. We soon caught the 
Vol. ili-f.- 32- 



Later in the morning we 
exchanged sledges with 
Bowers ; pulled theirs 
easily, whilst they made 
heavy work with ours. 

" We got fearfully hot 
on the march , sweated 
through everything and 
stripped off jerseys. The 
result is we are pretty 
cold and clammy now, 
but escape from the soft 
snow and a good march 
compensate every discom- 
fort. At lunch the blue ice 
was about two feet be- 
neath us h now it is barely 
a foot, so that I suppose 
we shall soon find it un- 

11 ONR IS SHOWN IN ACTUAL USkJNl labfiMeted." 




They seemed to be getting out of the huge 
basin for the lodgment of snow which extended 
as far as the Cloudmaker Mountain. Optimism, 
never far away, reasserts itself. " I think 
the soft snow trouble is at an end, and I could 
wish nothing better than a continuance of 
the present surface. Towards the end of 
the march we were pulling our loads with the 
greatest ease. It is splendid to be getting 
along and to find some adequate return for 
the work we are putting into the business. " 

December 15th the improvement con- 
tinued ; the covering of snow thinned out 
steadily. " It was an enormous relief yester- 
day to get steady going without involuntary 
stops, but yesterday and this morning, once 
the sledge was stopped, it was very difficult 
to start again — the runners got temporarily 
stuck. This afternoon for the first time we 
could start by giving one good heave together, 
and so for the first time we are able to stop to 
readjust foot-gear or do any other desirable 
task. This is a second relief for which we are 
most grateful/' 

But the good march was cut short by a 
thick snowstorm. " Pray Heaven we are not 
going to have this wretched snow in the 
worst part of the Glacier to come." 

" The Worst Part to Come." 

That " worst part " included steep slopes 
and ice-falls, pressure ridges, and crevassed 
areas, which drove them away from the 
direct line, as Shackleton had been driven, 
towards the Cloudmaker, though later they 
returned successfully to the centre of the 
Glacier. On the 16th a gloomy morning 
gave way to a gloriously fine evening. In 
the afternoon a peculiarly difficult surface — 
old hard sastrugi underneath, with pits and 
high, soft sastrugi, due to very recent snow- 
falls — often bringing the sledges up short, 
compelled the men to discard skis, thus 
making better progress, but for the time with 
very excessive labour, as the brittle crust 
held for a pace or two, and then " let one 
down with a bump some eight or ten inches," 
or sent the leg slipping down a crack in the 
hard ice beneath. 

" We must push on all we can, for we are 
now six days behind Shackleton, all due to 
that wretched storm. So far, since we got 
amongst the disturbances we have not seen 
such alarming crevasses as I had expected — 
certainly dogs could have come up as far as 
this. At present one gets terribly hot and 
perspiring on the march, and quickly cold 
when halted, but the sun makes up for ai! 

evils. It is very difficult to know what to do 
about the ski ; their weight is considerable, 
and yet, under certain circumstances, they 
are extraordinarily useful. Everyone is very 
satisfied with our summit ration. The party 
which has been man-hauling for so long say 
they are far less hungry than they used to be. 
It is good to think that the majority will 
keep up this good feeding all through. 

4 :i Sunday, December 17th. Soon after 
starting found ourselves in rather a mess ; 
bad pressure ahead and long waves between 
us and the land. Blue ice showed on the 
crests of the waves ; very soft snow lay in the 
hollows. We had to cross the waves in places 
thirty feet from crest to hollow, and we did 
it by sitting on the sledge and letting her go. 
Thus we went down with a rush, and our 
impetus carried us some way up the other 
side ; then followed a fearfully tough drag to 
rise the next crest. After two hours of this 
I saw a larger wave, the crest of which 
continued hard ice up the Glacier ; we 
reached this, and got excellent travelling for 
two miles on it, then rose on a steep gradient, 
and so topped the pressure ridge. 

" If we can keep up the pace, we gain on 
Shackleton, and I don't see any reason why 
we shouldn't, except that more pressure is 
showing up ahead. For once one can say, 
* Sufficient for the day is the good thereof.' 
Our luck may be on the turn — I think we 
deserve it. In spite of the hard work everyone 
is very fit and very cheerful, feeling well fed 
and eager for more toil. Eyes are much 
better, except poor Wilson's ; he has caught 
a very bad attack. 

" We get fearfully thirsty and chip up ice 
on the march, as well as drinking a great deal 
of water on halting. Our fuel only just does 
it, but that is all we want, and we have a bit 
in hand for the summit. . . . We have worn 
our crampons all day and are delighted with 
them. P.O. Evans, the inventor of both 
crampons and ski shoes, is greatly pleased, 
and certainly we owe him much." 

On the 1 8th it was again overcast and 
snowing. Better followed on the 19th and 
20th. " Things are looking up. Started on 
good surface, soon came to very annoying 
criss-cross cracks. Fell into two and have 
bad bruises on knee and thigh, but we got 
along all the time until we reached an 
admirable smooth ice surface excellent for 
travelling. The last mile, n tvt predominating, 
and, therefore, the pulling a trifle harder, we 
have risen into the upper basin of the Glacier. 
Seemingly close about us are the various land, 
masses which adjoin the summit : it looks as 






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though we might have difficulties in the last 
narrows. Having a long lunch hour for 
angles, photographs, and sketches." 

The afternoon brought up the day's run to 
seventeen geographical miles. " It has not 
been a strain, except, perhaps, for me with 
my wounds received early in the day. The 
wind has kept us cool on the march, which 
has, in consequence, been very much 
pleasanter ; we are not wet in our clothes 
to-night, and have not suffered from the 
same overpowering thirst as on previous days. 
Evans and Bowers are busy taking angles ; 
as they have been all day, we shall have 
material for an excellent chart. Days like 
this put heart in one." 

The record of the 19th was beaten by that 
of the 20th, twenty-three geographical miles, 
rising eight hundred feet. And at camp 
" we must be ahead of Shackleton's position 
on the 17th. 

Hopes and Fears. 

" I have just told off the people to return 
to-morrow night: Atkinson, Wright, Cherry- 
Garrard, and Keohane. All are disappointed. 
I dreaded this necessity of choosing — nothing 
could be more heartrending*. I calculated 
our programme to start from 85° io' with 
twelve units of food and eight men. We 
ought to be in this position to-morrow night, 
less one day's food. After all our harassing 
trouble one cannot but be satisfied with such 
a prospect." 

The last day of this stage, December 21st, 
was severe, owing to crevasses and falls, 
while at midday " the wind came from the 
north, bringing the inevitable [fog] up the 
valley and covering us just as we were in the 
worst of places," delaying them two and a 
half hours. But the stiffest of climbs has 
an end, and camp was pitched at 7.30. 
44 We have done a good march, risen to a 
satisfactory altitude, and reached a good 
place for our depot. To-morrow we start 
with our fullest summit load, and the first 
march should show us the possibilities of our 
achievement. For me it is an immense 
relief to have the indefatigable little Bowers 
to see to all detail arrangements. 

" We have risen a great height to-day and 
I hope it will not be necessary to go down 
again, but it looks as though we must dip a 
bit even to go to the south-west." 

The last outward stage, the summit journey, 
lasted from December 22nd to January 17th, 

• The points at which this and the remaining parlies turned 
back are shown on the maps in the present instalment. 
Vol. xlvi.-34. 

twenty - seven days for three hundred and 
fifty-three miles. On December 23rd the 
true summit seemed to be reached, where 
the Glacier merges in the ice-cap, undulating 
but uncrevassed. But, unhappily, on Christ- 
mas Day and the 27th they found themselves 
in the midst of crevasses again. After that, 
however often the undulating plateau offered 
a ridged or rugged surface, the danger of 
crevasses ceased. The general level continued 
to rise. On January 2nd, at the height of 
nearly ten thousand feet, the plain seemed to 
be flattening out, but the highest levels, over 
ten thousand five hundred feet, were only 
reached on January 6th and 7th. 

But the difficulties of the Glacier were 
surmounted only to be succeeded by a new, 
long-drawn struggle in these mountain 
altitudes. The surface of the ice-cap was 
broken and rugged; the snow in powdery 
crystals, whether loose and soft in the windless 
belt, or drifted into ridges, fantastically 
combed like an Alpine " cornice," was as dull 
and clogging for ski or sledge-runner as the 
loose sand of a sea beach. There was rarely 
any " glide," but heavy, jerking collar-work. 
The weather remained unkind, the strain of 
guiding ceaseless ; the anxiety of pitting 
effort against time, of measuring hard-wrung 
endurance against known and unknown tasks, 
almost as wearing as physical fatigue. As we 
read this Journal hope alternates with fear, 
but resolution stays constant through un- 
remitting ill-fortune. 

" This, the third stage of our journey, is 
opening with good promise. We made our 
depot this morning, then said an affecting 
farewell to the returning party, who have 
taken things very well, dear, good fellows as 
they are." 

Then they started with their heavy loads 
about 9.20. Any trepidation as to the 
weight vanished as they went off and up 
a slope at a smart pace — the second sledge 
close behind, its team well chosen to form the 
supporting party., which proceeded till 
January 4th. 

The dip across which their course ran 
south-west dropped some eleven hundred 
and fifty feet, but then they climbed again 
two hundred and fifty feet and camped at 
seven thousand one hundred feet. Huge 
pressure ridges barred the way to the south, 
and they passed one or two very broad 
(thirty feet) bridged crevasses with the usual 
gaping sides — the whole incline in front a 
confusion of elevations and depressions. Next 
dav u we had to haul out to the north, then 


UNIVERSffY 1 6«Flie' ing ^ 





march so far to the west, but if \vt- keep 
rising we must come to the end of the 
obstacles some time/' 

Later, as they climbed yet another slope to 
the west : " On top of this we got on the most 
extraordinary surface— narrow crevasses ran 
in all directions. They were quite invisible, 
being covered with a thin crust of hardened 
n£v£ without a sign of a crack in it. We all 
fell in. one after another, and sometimes two 

together. We have had many unexpected 
falls before, but usually through being unable 
to mark the run of the surface appearances of 
cracks or where such cracks are covered with 
soft snow. How a hardened crust can form 
over a crack is a real puzzle — it seems to 

argue extreme! v slow movement* 

u But suddenly at 5 p.m. everything 
changed. The: iwA^uxface gave place to 

Eon levelled in 


2 59 

every direction- I hung on to the south-west 
till 6 p.m,, and then camped with a delightful 
feeling of security that we had at length 
reached the summit proper. I am feeling very 
cheerful about everything to-night. To me, 
for the first time, our goal seems really in 
sight. We can pull our loads , and pull them 
much faster and farther than I expected in 
my most hopeful moments. I only pray for 
a fair share of good weather, 

** December 24th, We have not struck a 
crevasse all day. which is a good sign. The 
sun continues to shine in a cloudless 
sky, the wind rises and falls, and 
about us is a scene of the wildest 
desolation, but we are a very cheer- 
ful party j and to-morrow is Christ- 
mas Day, with something extra in 
the hoosh. 

Lash ley Falls Into a Crevasse on 
Christmas Day* 

11 Christmas Day. To our annoy- 
ance found ourselves amongst cre- 
vasses once more — very hard, 

smooth ngvi between high ridges at the edge 
of crevasses, and therefore very difficult to 
get foothold to pull the sledges. We had 
to tack a good deal, and several of us went 
half down. After half an hour of this 1 looked 
round and found the second sledge halted 
some way in rear — evidently someone had 
gone into a crevasse. We saw the rescue work 
going on , but had to wait half an hour for the 
party to come up 3 and got mighty cold. It 
appears that Lashley went down very 
suddenly, nearly dragging crew with him. 



Vol. xlvi. — 35. 





The sledge ran on and jammed the span, so 
that the Alpine rope had to be got out and 
used to pull Lashley to the surface again. 
Lash icy says the crevasse was eighty feet deep 
and eight feet across in form U, showing 
that the word E unfathomable ' can rarely be 
applied, Lashley is forty- four to-day, and 
as hard as nails- His fall has not even 
disturbed his equanimity. 
u In the afternoon, after sundry luxuries 

sides. Is this a submerged mountain peak 
or a swirl in the stream ? Getting clear of 
crevasses and on a slightly down grade, we 
came along at a swinging pace— splendid, 
I marched on till nearly 7,30, when we 
had covered fifteen miles (geographical), 
seventeen and a quarter (statute)* I knew 
that supper was to be a ' tightener/ and 
indeed it has been — so much that I must 
leave description till the morning.' 1 



such as chocolate and raisins at lunch, we 
started off well, but soon got amongst 
crevasses, huge snow field roadways running 
almost in our direction, and across hidden 
cracks into which we frequently fell ; passing 
for ten miles or so along between two road- 
way 5 j we came on a huge pit with raised 

The outlook confirmed previous inferences 
as to a more favourable approach to the 

l< In the middle of the afternoon we got 
another fine view of the land, The Dominion 
rani:c ends abruptlv us observed; then come 

tw *fif l Jrliiter a ■* land - 



Similarly north of the wild 
mountains is another strait and 
another mass of land. The 
various straits are undoubtedly 
overflows, and the masses of 
land mark the inner fringe of 
the exposed coastal moun tains, 
the general direction of which 
seems about S.3*E., from which 
it appears that one could be 
much closer to the Pole on the 
Barrier by continuing on it to 
the S.SJE. We ought to know 
more of this when Evans's 
observations are plotted/ 1 

Christmas Dinner — ° after 

which it was difficult to 


What would Christmas be 
without its Christmas dinner — 
above all in the ice ? 

" I must write a word of our 
supper last night. We had four 
courses. The first, pemmicanj 
full whack, with slices of horse- 
meat flavoured with onion and 
curry powder and thickened 
with biscuit ; then an arrow- 
root, coeoa^ and biscuit hoosh 
sweetened ; then a plum - pud' 
ding ; then cocoa with raisins, 
and finally a dessert of caramels 
and ginger. After the feast it 
was difficult to move. Wilson 
and I couldn't finish our share 
of plum-pudding. We have all 
slept splendidly and feel tho- 
roughly warm — such is the 
effect of full feeding." 

Nest day " perhaps a little 
slow after plum - pudding " ; 
yet " it seems astonishing to 
be disappointed with a march 
of fifteen (statute) miles when 
I had contemplated doing little 
more than ten with full loads, !> 

On the 27th " the pulling 
was heavy. Everyone sweated. 
We have been going up and 
down, the up grades very 
tiring, especially when we get 
among sastrugi, which jerk the 
sledge about/' In the after- 
noon " we were once more in 
the midst of crevasses and dis- 
turbances. At the summit of 
the ridge we came into another 








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*^~^ft^-> IZmen 3, °^ v improv* 1J ™fl— • — -"m «ke depot 


3 men 


:'V£ ei $S n 

k for war 



* pit ' or ' whirl/ which seemed the centre 
of the trouble* Is it a submerged mountain 
peak ? 

" Steering the party is no light task. One 
cannot allow one's thoughts to wander as 
others do, and when, as this afternoon, one 
gets among disturbances, I find it is very 
worrying and tiring," 

December 28th, The first team travelled 
easily j while the second tl made heavy 
weather/' Scott himself changed over, then 
made an additional change, but without 
success. " What was the difficulty ? One 
theory was that some members of the second 
party were stale. Another that all was due 
to the bad stepping and want of swing ; 
another that the sledge pulled heavy. In the 
afternoon we exchanged sledges, and at first 
went off well j but getting into soft snow we 
found a terrible drag, the second party 
coming quite easily with our sledge. So the 
sledge is the cause of the trouble. fJ Investi- 
gation showed that the framework had been 
wrenched out of the true by the hard knocks 
received on the rugged ice. A less rigid 
strapping of the load enabled the necessary 
adjustment to be made ; whereupon the 
second party, pacing well together, held 
their own again. 

" The marches are terribly monotonous, 
One's thoughts wander occasionally tr> 
pleasanter scenes and places, but the necessity 
to keep the course ? or some hitch in the 
surface, quickly brings them back. There 
have been some hours of very steady plodding 
to-day ; these are the best part of the 
business, mean forget fulness and advance." 

On the last day of the year the '* Lhree 


Degree " depot was formed, with a week's 
provisions for both units ; so called because 
by Lieutenant Evans's observations they 
were nearly on the eighty- seventh parallel 
aimed at for that night. Here camp was 
pitched at 1.30, and the second party left 
their ski and some heavy things in depot, 

11 We had a good full brew of tea and then 
set to work stripping the sledges. That 
didn't take long, but the process of building 
up the ten-feet sledges [instead of twelve feet] 
now in operation in the other tent is a long 
job, Evans (P.O.) and Crean are tackling it, 
and it is a very remarkable piece of work. 
Certainly P.O. Evans is the most invaluable 
asset to our party. To build a sledge under 
these conditions is a fact for special record," 

January istj 19 12. Twice on this day, as 
on the next, starting after the foot-haulers, 
Scott's team caught them up without 
difficulty. "It was surprising how easily 
the sledge pulled ; we have scarcely exerted 
ourselves all day. We are very comfortable 
in our double tent. Stick of chocolate to 
celebrate the New Year. Prospects seem to 
get brighter — only about one hundred and 
seventy miles to go and plenty of food left. 

" January 3rd, Within one hundred and 
fifty miles of our goal. Last night I decided 
to reorganize, and this morning told ofF 
Teddy Evans, Lashley, and Oean to return, 
They are disappointed, but take it well. 
Bowers is to come into our tent, and we 
proceed as a five-man unit to-morrow. We 
have five and a half units of food — practically 
over a month's allowance for five people — it 
ought to see us through. We came along 
well on ski to-day, but the foot-haulers were 







in tr«v&sae 




Dec 31**1911 




175 miles 
ro Pole 

Jan 4*1912 


Lash ley 

return . 

ScoU * 
4 men 
Go forward 

miles to 

MAP ON PAGES 248-349. 

slow, and so we only got a trifle over twelve 
miles (geographical). Very anxious to see 
how we shall manage to-morrow ; if wc can 
march well with the full load we shall be 
practically safe, I take it. 

" January 4th. It is wonderful to see how 
neatly everything stows on a little sledge, 
thanks to P.O. Evans. I was anxious to see 
how we could pull it, and glad to find we 
went easy enough. Bowers on foot pulls 
between, but behind Wilson and myself ; he 
has to keep his own pace, and luckily does not 
throw us out at all. 

The Fated Party of Five Go Forward to 
the Pole* 

" The second party had followed us in case 
of accident, but as soon as I was certain we 
could get along we stopped and said farewell, 
Teddy Evans is terribly disappointed, but has 
taken it very well and behaved like a man." 

Under average conditions the return party 
should have well fulfilled Scott's cheery 
anticipations. Three-man teams had done 
excellently on previous sledging expeditions, 
whether in Discovery days or as recently as 
the midwinter visit to the Emperor penguins' 
rookery ; and the three in this party were 
seasoned travellers with a skilful leader. 

Evans Nearly Dies of Scurvy — His lite 
Saved by Lashley and Crean* 

But Fortune dealt her blows impartially on 
those who went back as well as on those who 
went forward. A blizzard held them up for 


three days before reaching the head of the 
Glacier ; they had to press on at speed. By 
the time they reached the foot of the Glacier 
Lieutenant Evans developed symptoms of 
the dreaded and exhausting scurvy. With 
Lashley, he had been man-hauling a sledge 
ever since the breakdown of the motors, and 
before that had been out surveying, so that 
he had been a long time on sledging rations. 
These } no doubt, were predisposing causes. 

Withal ? he continued to pull, bearing the 
heavy strain of guiding the course. As the 
hauling power thus grew less, the leader had 
to make up for loss of speed by lengthening 
the working hours. As Columbus kept from 
his crew the disquieting knowledge of their 
true distance from home, so Evans sought to 
prevent discouragement in his hard-tasked 
men by putting on his watch an hour. With 
the " turning out J ' signal thus advanced, the 
actual marching period reached twelve hours, 
The situation was saved, and Evans flattered 
himself on his ingenuity. But the men knew 
it all the time, and no word said ! 

At One Ton Camp he was unable to stand 
without the support of his ski- sticks, but 
with the help of his companions struggled on 
another fifty- three miles in four days. Then 
he could go no farther. His brave com- 
panions, rejecting his suggestion that he Le 
left in his sleeping-bag with a supply of 
provisions while they pressed on for help, 
" cached " everything that could be spared, 
and pulled him on the sledge with a devotion 
matching that of their captain years before, 
when he and Wilson brought their companion 
Shaekleton, ill and helpless, safely home to 






From a Photograph] PARTY, UNDER COMMANDER EVANS, RETURNED. [gp Lieut, Bower* 

Four days of this pulling, with a southerly 
wind to help j brought t hern to Corner Camp ; 
then came a heavy snowfall, the sledge could 
not travel. It 
was a critical 
moment. Next 
day Ciean set 
out to tramp 
alone to Hut 
Point, thirty- 
four miles 
away* Lash lev- 
stayed to nurse 
Evans, and 
most certainly 
saved his life 
till help came, 
Crean reached 
Hut Point 
after an ex- 
hausting march 
of eighteen 
hours ; at once 
Dr. Atkinson 
and Demetri 
set off with the 



dog-teams and brought the sick man back 
in a single march of five hours. At the 
Discovery Hut he was unremittingly tended 

by Dr. A t kin- 
son j and finally 
sent by sledge 
to the Terra 
Nova. A visit 
to England 
brought health 
again, and 
Evans was able 
to return in 
command of 
the Terra 
Nova on her 
final journey 
to the South, 
It is good to 
know that 
both Lashley 
and Crean 
have been 
for the Albert 


{To be concluded.) 






A Xale of the Alps. 

Illustrated by C- Fleming ^Afilliams. 

LIKE him/ 7 said the Bishop, 
stoutly* (1 He's a rough 

Cart hew lifted his shoul- 
ders. " I hardly know 
him," he admitted, " but I 
put the accent on £ rough/ 
Perhaps you don't agree with me, Miss 
Frenton ? ,T 
The Bishop's daughter shook her head. 
*' No/* she said. " To me he seems a 
thorough gentleman/' 

Carthew gave another performance of what 
he had once heard a youthful admirer describe 
as " his inimitable shrug/' 

" There, again, ( seems ' is tjie word I 
should underline, but I don't want to question 
you r taste . N o w w ha t a hou 1 1 h is e xped i t io n ? 
Surely you* re joking ? You don't mean the 
Gemsenhorn ? " 


li I have arranged to climb it with Mr. 
0*Rorke to-morrow/' answered Miss Frenton, 
placidly , and Carthew nearly jumped from 
his seat. Even the Bishop allowed his usual 
smile to be corrupted by something very like 
a frown. 

* ( My dear Muriel ! " he demurred, £i Mr. 
O'Rorke is quite inexperienced, and the 
Gemsenhorn — is the Gemsenhorn/' 

She patted his arm. 

" Dear old dad ! " she purred. " It isn't 
the central peak we are going to attempt, It 
is the Needle." 

Her father stared at her as if he was an 
entomologist and she a new form of beetle. 
Then he laughed — shortly. 

" That, of course, is simply absurd/' he 
retorted, " The Gemsenhorn Needle has 
never been climbed. Even Mr. O'Rorke is 
aware of that, for I myself told him ail about 




it, and showed him my photographs of the 

She smiled, 

" That's what did it ; " she explained. 
(i You made him crazy to bring off the first 

This time the Bishop frowned in earnest. 

he halted, considered, and then continued, 
with a sort of dogged inevitability—" includ- 
ing me 7 is plainly ridiculous* To add to your 
difficulties by having in your company a 
gentleman who has passed the greater portion 
of his life upon the American prairies and 
has never seen a mountain till this present 



,( My child, you're talking sheer nonsense," 
he said* " You may think yourseli a fine 
climber — for a woman you are. But to 
imagine that, accompanied by any guide or 
guides in this valley, you can scale a pinnacle 
that has been attempted in vain by half the 
members of the Alpine Club, including " 

summer, simply piles folly on folly ! " The 
speaker ended on what was palpably a snort 
of indignation. 

His daughter looked at him admiringly. 

" It was nice of you, dad, not to show any 
mock modesty about yourself. We know 
thallj f^iERk|e"Pp (JNMte^GAW Uut ainecr that 



Switzerland has ever seen, and you know it. 
I'm glad you are honest about it. But new 
men sometimes invent new methods. Mr. 
O'Rorke wants to conduct some experiments 
and I want to watch them. For guide we 
are taking Heinrich Lahn." 

Carthew's laugh was sarcastic. 

" Your friend aims high, doesn't he ? " he 
asked. " It's rather ambitious to experiment 
with the most impossible peak in the Alps." 

" I like ambition," said Muriel, blandly. 

The Bishop pressed down the tobacco in 
his pipe. 

44 So do I," he allowed, " but I don't 
encourage foolhardiness. Lahn is good enough, 
but he will have all his work cut out for him 
in looking after your friend. Unless some- 
body else of proved experience accompanies 
you I must forbid your going." 

Carthew preened himself. 

" I am only too happy to offer to accompany 
— Miss Frenton," he said. " I must not be 
considered to be taking any responsibilities 
for Mr. O'Rorke." 

The girl looked at him in silence for a 
moment. Then she laughed. 

" Very well," she agreed. She laughed 
again. " Poor Mr. O'Rorke ! Between the 
three of us we shall almost stifle him with our 
helpfulness, sha'n't we ? " 

Carthew did not smile. 

" I should strongly advise your leaving Mr. 
O'Rorke at home," he recommended, and 
Muriel nodded sagely. 

44 Advice is your strong point, Mr. Carthew," 
she said, and wheeled towards the hotel. 
" You'll arrange everything with Lahn ? " 
she added, over her shoulder, and Carthew, 
conquering a desire to use a monosyllable 
which no Bishop could possibly be brought 
to approve, agreed that he would. But his 
face was a study in irritation as he resumed 
his seat and accepted a light for his cigarette. 

44 It's odd how you manage to rub her the 
wrong way," meditated Muriel's father, look- 
ing at the son-in-law of his desire with a 
reflective air, and Carthew for the second time 
gulped down an impulse to be emphatic. 
But a new determination was beginning to 
bulk largely in his mind. His future wife, 
he assured himself, should avoid the company 
of picturesque and affable strangers. Those 
from the land of the Golden West would be 
absolutely barred. On this point his decision 
was adamant. 

Meanwhile, at the terraced entrance of the 
hotel, Muriel was greeting with smiles the 
appearance of a gentleman whose frank 
countenance was beaded with perspiration, 

Vol. xlvi.-36. 

while the glowing colour of his cheeks indi- 
cated that he had taken recent and strenuous 
exercise. He bore a rope coiled across his 
shoulder — but not by any means the kind of 
rope to which the mountaineering community 
of Grindenzat was accustomed. It was made 
of skilfully-plaited rawhide. 

He raised his hat. The girl looked at him 

44 You've been practising," she decided, 
and his laugh admitted her conclusion. 

44 On the moraine rocks," he said. 44 1 
managed full fifty feet." 

44 That means success ! " she exulted. " My 
goodness ! We shall thrill all the Alpine 
clubs of Europe ! " 

44 It's not the Alpine clubs that I'm caring 
about," said her companion, in an accent 
which was not wholly Irish or wholly 
American, but a pleasant blend of both. 
44 There's only the one person that I have a 
consuming desire to satisfy, and that's — you." 

She looked at him with a demure little 
wrinkling of her yebrow. 

44 1 — I wonder why," she meditated, 
daringly, and then wheeled quickly into the 
open doorway of the hotel. For Mr. O'Rorke 
was showing signs of being about to make an 
announcement which she was not at all 
unwilling to hear, but one which her feminine 
perception judged to be wholly unsuitable 
to surroundings which were within earshot 
of a dozen balconies. 

Her cavalier followed with the aspect of 
one not entirely deprived of hope. He 
remembered, perhaps, that the hotel garden 
a few hours later, beneath the light of a 
crescent moon, would brim with oppor- 
tunities to make an announcement which 
became more pressing with every hour. This 
consideration, too, it is just possible to con- 
ceive, may have been fleetingly present in 
the mind of Miss Frenton also. Fate, how- 
ever, willed otherwise. During dinner it 
rained, and though Lahn, on being summoned, 
announced that it was no more than a shower 
which was even then ceasing, the three 
climbers had to retire early without having 
escaped the conventionalities of the veranda. 
On the Bishop's advice they were in bed by 
nine, the start being arranged for two 
punctually. "" 

Five hours later Lahn's optimism was 
justified. He led his party out into the calm 
of a starlit, windless night. 

44 We are bound upon an errand of colossal 
foolishness, gnadigcs frauletn" he remarked, 
44 but at least we are to have fine weather to 

miti g^l^SltY OF MICHIGAN 



Muriel laughed cheerfully. 

" Conduct us to the foot of the Needle, 
Heinrich," she answered, " and leave the 
rest to us. Perhaps you will get a surprise." 

" Nothing that American Herren do would 
surprise me," said the guide, resignedly, 
" Why does this one carry a rope ? Does he 
mistrust mine ? " 

" American Herren have many fads, and this 
is his," replied the girl, with a chuckle. Lahn 

" I am a plain man — I am not a riddle- 
solver," he announced. " It will be as well 
to reserve our breath for propelling our bodies. 
Vorwarts 1 " And so in silence he continued 
to lead upon the upward path. 

Day was breaking as the four stepped off 
the edge of the famous Sudletch Glacier on 
to the bare ribs of rock which buttress the 
Gemsenhorn. Three thousand feet above 
their heads it soared into the air, clean cut 
against the opal of the dawn. The guide 
looked at it with searching attention. 

" Better luck than I expected," he ex- 
plained at last. " Last night's shower missed 
this. No fresh snow to make verglas in the 
big chimney." 

O'Rorke stared about him curiously. 

" A chimney ? " he debated. " A chim- 
ney ? " 

Carthew smiled a trifle superciliously. 

" Look at that patch of snow to the left. 
It is the groove which reaches from there to 
the slabs which disappear in the shadow of 
the overhanging crag two hundred feet 
higher," he explained. 

O'Rorke nodded solemnly. 

"So that's a chimney?" he soliloquized. 
" If you'd said the open fireplace, now — with 
a special reminder that the bars were all out 
of the grate — there's one chance in fifty I 
might have captured your meaning. I hope 
my waistcoat buttons are well sewed on. 
They're going to be my principal means of 

" There's the rope," said Carthew, dryly. 
" Are you satisfied that it is reliable ? 
Because in that case why not leave the one 
you are carrying ? We shall drop our ruck- 
sacks here after we have breakfasted." 

The American looked at the cord which 
attached him on one side to the guide and on 
the other to Muriel, who in her turn was 
linked to Carthew. Then he fingered the 
rawhide which was still coiled about his own 

" It's a sort of mascot with me— a lariat," 
he explained. " I think I'll stick to it." 
Something suspiciously like a wink, Carthew 

was annoyed to notice, accompanied this 
pronouncement. It was directed, too, to 
Muriel Frenton's address. 

A quarter of an hour's halt was allowed 
while the party drank cold tea and disposed 
of bread and hard-boiled eggs. When Lahn 
rose he turned to the American with some- 
thing of pessimism in his air. 

" The Herr will not move while I am 
moving," he commanded. " Where I put 
my feet he will place his. Before he places 
any weight upon a hold he will try it. So 
only can we proceed in safety." 

O'Rorke nodded. 

" Sure ! " he assented, and gripped the 
staff of his ice-axe. Lahn turned and heaved 
himself up on to a narrow, overhanging ledge. 

For the next two hours he led unerringly 
from shelf to shelf. At first he paid a very 
special attention to the man immediately 
behind him, showing by word and gesture 
exactly how each difficulty had to be over- 
come. The American made no comment, 
but with an easy assurance did as he was 
told, winning at last the compliment of an 
inarticulate but satisfied grunt. Ten minutes 
later, as a thin foothold suddenly gave way, 
leaving the leader hanging by his hands alone, 
he was surprised to find his boot seized from 
below and thrust into a new and deeper niche. 
He stared over his shoulder almost sus- 

" The Herr was very quick — and skilful," 
he allowed. 

O'Rorke made no answer, but Carthew 
wore something like a frown. He felt it as 
almost insufferable that the tenderfoot of 
the party should actually be showing presence 
of mind and resource. How could one look 
forward to the humiliation of a rival like that ? 

As the climbers emerged at last by way of the 
slabs on to the shoulder of the peak a new 
view came into prospect. Away to the left, 
springing from the main body of the rock 
and outlined against the sky, rose an irregular 
mass, in shape not unlike a closed fist from 
which the index finger alone was lifted. The 
whole hand, so to speak, jutted out from the 
crag, a ruined tower of granite representing 
the thumb, a ru?ged ridge-like lump the 
knuckles, while on the outmost edge a slender 
pinnacle tapered fifty feet into the air. It 
overhung a void which seemed illimitable. 

Lahn halted and wiped his brow. 

"So!" he grumbled. "The Herr has 
done excellently, and that is the Needle." 
He flung out his arm in indication. The 
gesture seemed, somehow, to imply a sort of 
fatalistic contempt. MICHIGAN 



O'Rorke nodded. He drew out a pair of 
binoculars and examined the rocks atten- 

" And the Rocker ? " he inquired at last. 

" The mass between the Thumb and the 
Needle," said the guide. " The Herr has 
seen enough ? " 

" The Herr has seen what he expected to 
see," said O'Rorke, placidly. " What about 
getting along ? " 

Lahn shrugged his shoulders. 

" The Herr thinks it worth while continuing 
to the pinnacle foot ? " 

" No," said O'Rorke ; " but to its summit 
—yes ! " 

The guide stared at him with a sort of 
dogged curiosity. Imperturbably the other 
stared back. Then Lahn humped his shoul- 
ders, emitted his customary grunt of acquies- 
cence, and stepped forward. It was the 
Gemsenhorn face, which had to be traversed 
now — a feat demanding both skill and nerve. 
It is one, indeed, which would be impossible 
but for a certain geological fact. The moun- 
tain is not a homogeneous mass — certain 
stratum cleavages have taken place in its 
composition, and queer, rugged, shelf-like 
edges protrude from the parent rock. It is 
a cool and practised climber who finds his way 
without a slip from each to each. The guide 
sighed with relief as the party crowded together 
at last upon the broken, wind-worn summit 
of the Thumb. 

" It is no child's play — this traverse ! " he 
confessed. " To return as swiftly and as 
securely as we have come is a to-be-well- 
spoken-of feat." 

O'Rorke smiled. 

" To return you have to arrive," he re- 
minded him. " Our goal is that ! " He 
pointed to the Needle's arrogant tip. 

Lahn rummaged in his breast-pocket, pro- 
duced the butt of a half-smoked cigar, lit it, 
and began to send great puffs of smoke into 
the air. He stared stolidly into the Ameri- 
can's face. 

" The Herr desires to do — what ? " he 
asked. " Beyond this point no one has 
attained. That " — he pointed again to the 
mass which filled the gap between his feet 
and the smoothed sides of the Needle — " that, 
as I have told you, is the Rocker." 

" So I guess," agreed O'Rorke. " Are we 
going to make it rock ? " 

" No ! " said Lahn, decisively. " If we 
did the ice and snow beneath it would 
probably shiver off and— probably — sweep 
us away. But others have done so. The 
first man to set foot on it was the famous 

English Professor Langdale. Because he 
was a cautious man and well roped, his party 
dragged him back the moment the tilting 
movement began. The second was the 
Frenchman, M. de Lau, the great traveller. 
He was unroped and obstinate. His travels 
ended — there ! " He pointed directly 
downwards into the chaos of glacier-carved 
moraine three thousand feet below. 

The American nodded. 

" I've heard the tale — and a dozen others 
like it. No one has reached the Needle 
because no one can traverse over or under 
the Rocker to its foot. But then, as far as I 
can gather, no one has ever tried who can 
fling a lariat ! " 

Lahn knitted his brows. 

" A la-ree-et ? " he pondered. " I do not 

O'Rorke unwound the rawhide. 

" This ! " he said. " Look at it— and then 
look at that ! " He pointed to an out- 
thrust horn of stone upon the flank of the 
Needle — one of the queer, twisted out- 
croppings which seamed the whole face of 
the cliff. It was silhouetted against the sky 
some fifty feet from where the climbers 

The American loosed the knot from about 
his waist. 

" I ain't going to move— yet," he explained, 
"but I want pretty well the whole of my 
body free." Then he turned to Carthew. 
11 The Bishop, when he told me the story of 
the Needle and the Rocker, showed me his 
photographs of it," he continued. " When 
I saw that tusk I could not help noticing how 
like an unbusted steer's horn it stood. It 
just seemed asking to be roped. Now it's 
not going to ask in vain." 

He gripped the coils of the rawhide and 
swung the loose, looped end around his head. 
With a whistling sound it leaped out across 
the gap, rapped the surface of the Needle, 
and for one precarious moment hung upon 
the horn of rock. Then its own weight 
dragged it back. 

" First shot a miss ! " commented O'Rorke, 
philosophically. " The next's going to be 
in the bull, or I'll know the reason why ! " 

But Carthew cried out with a suddenly 
vehement note of anger in his voice. To him 
the American's purpose needed no elaboration. 
He saw, quickly enough, that the lasso, once 
firmly fixed upon the Needle's flank, would 
provide a bridge by which an expert could 
swing himself across the gap without so much 
as setting foot upon tht unstable stone beneath. 
He saw the pinnacle vanquished and O'Rorke 



its victor. His whole being rose up in 

" It's not fair climbing ! " he cried. " We 
have not even tried to find out if the Rocker — 
still rocks ! " 

O'Rorke looked inquiringly at Lahn. The 
guide smiled — almost disdainfully. 

u The Rocker always rocks," he said. " That 
has been proved, alas ! too often for mistake." 

" No ! " persisted Carthew, doggedly. " It 
may alter with weather conditions. Look 
at the new-formed ice below it, supporting 

" Supporting it on this side," agreed the 
guide. " On the far side — the side which 
tilts — it has no support but empty air." 

" I mean to try honest climbing before we 
descend to — to acrobatics ! " retorted Carthew, 
savagely, and moved forward. With a shrug 
of the shoulder O'Rorke stood aside to let 
him pass. 

" Try by all means ! " he assented. " Mean- 
while I'll try, too. He whirled the rawhide 
loop around his head again and launched it 
through the air. And this time with full 
success. The noose sank round the upthrust 
tusk of rock ancj settled into position. The 
link between the climbers and their goal was 

O'Rorke turned, and as he did so heard 
Lahn's voice uplifted in anger. Carthew, 
still roped, was scrambling on to the Rocker's 
edge. The guide was holding the rope and 
protesting vehemently. 

" It is dangerous— dangerous ! " he cried. 
" If the Herr unseats the rock he unseats the 
ice beneath it. If that falls there will be 
disaster ! " He plucked at the rope to 
emphasize his warning. 

Carthew paid no attention. He pressed 
forward a pace at a time, testing, as it were, 
the strain he put upon his foothold. Then 
he turned, and over his shoulder laughed 
triumphantly. % 

" It's firm — firm as a dining-rcom table ! " 
he declared. 

In the same moment, opening with the 
sudden fierceness with which a wild beast 
opens its jaws, a huge mouth, as it were, 
gaped between the Rocker and its pedestal. 
The great stone tilted downwards towards 
the abyss and Carthew was flung upon his 
face. With a cry of rage, Lahn hauled him 
violently back. 

Carthew, with no control over his motions, 
slid towards the others and the stone sank 
back upon its pedestal. But with a crash the 
huge lump of ice which had filled the shadowed 
crevice below it broke away. It fell upon 

Lahn, sweeping his feet from under him. He 
reeled down upon Muriel. 

For a moment she swayed, fighting gallantly 
to keep her footing, but Carthew, dragged 
over by the guide's weight, was flung down 
upon her in his turn. The disaster was com- 

O'Rorke released his hold of the rawhide 
and sprang forward, but too late. The other 
three, snatched from his grasp before it 
could reach them, swept down the icy slope 
towards the abyss. His voice pealed out in 
agony, and then — ended upon a half-choked 
gasp of relief. For the guide had not dis- 
appeared — he lay stunned but securely 
caught by one of the projections upon the 
very last verge above the immeasurable drop. 
And the rope hung from his waist still taut ! 
The others had flashed past out of sight, but 
surely there was yet a chance — a tiny, fleeting 
chance — that the tense cord spoke of one or 
both still swaying beneath that cruel brink. 

It must be so — it must ! A thousand times 
O'Rorke told himself so in a fierce whisper 
as he turned and whirled the lariat from its 
hold upon the Needle. He drew it to his 
feet, fixed it anew upon a projection at his 
side, and then, holding it and slipping reck- 
lessly from ledge to ledge, passed down the 
ice-worn slope. He laid his hand upon 
Lahn's shoulder. 

The guide stirred, groaned, opened his eyes. 
He made as if he would rise. O'Rorke 
pressed him back. 

"No! "he thundered. "No!" He made 
an emphatic gesture towards the abyss. 
" You are anchoring them ! " he cried. 
Instantly Lahn's expression told that he 
understood. He wedged himself yet more 
firmly against the stone. His set lips became 
a grim line of determination. 

" Till they pull me in two ! " he growled, 
and doggedly drew up one of his knees to get 
a purchase against the cutting strain upon 
his waist. And then, with something like a 
prayer upon his lips, O'Rorke peered over 
the edge. 

The ecstasy of his relief was expressed in a 
ringing cry. They were there, both of them ! 

Muriel hung ten feet below. A dozen feet 
farther down again Carthew swung. Between 
the two of them one of the jagged, shelf-like 
formations ran across the face of the cliff, 
and upon this the rope, pressed inwards by 
the man's weight, was badly frayed. 

O'Rorke gathered all the strength of his 
great thews into one concentrated effort, and 
as he pulled the guide turned, making his 
waist a sort of human capstan upon which he 




"tti* msATO* w AS coM^ff 0R'5ITY OF MICHIGAN 




. (~*r\ruTiL* Original from 




wound the slack. The rope and the two 
bodies travelled slowly upwards, hesitated, 
and then halted. O'Rorke redoubled his 
efforts. A cry came from below — a cry of' 

Lahn pointed down. 

" Something sticks ! " he gasped. " I have 
tLem held. See to it ! " 

For the second time the American peered 
intothe abyss. Muriel's eyes met his, bright 
with agony. 

" It's crushing me — I can't breathe ! " she 
panted, and made a feeble effort to clutch the 
rope above her head as if to ease the intoler- 
able strain. 

O'Rorke saw — and understood. The rope, 
dragged inwards from below, was wedged in 
a cleft. 

And for a moment the reality of what he 
saw seemed to escape him. He felt as if it 
was from some nightmare dream that he 
stared and stared Again at those ungiving 
strands, helpless, hopeless, crushed by the 
finger of a malignant Fate. And it was as if 
from some other immeasurably remote world 
that Carthew's voice reached him, faintly at 
first, but increasing in firmness and strength. 
He turned his eyes down to meet the English- 
man's glance. He met none of that half- 
contemptuous, half-patronizing dislike which 
he had been accustomed to see in that face 
before. Nor did he hear in that voice any 
trace of the resentful tones he knew so well. 

" My fault — my fault utterly ! " cried 
Carthew. " Thank God I can put it right ! 
Muriel — can you hear me ? I want to say — 
good-bye ! " 

The girl swayed against the cliff as she 
tried to turn her glance down. Her hand 
made a gesture of dissent. 

"No!" she cried, feebly. " No ! Till 
help comes — I can — hold on ! " 

And then Carthew laughed — a queer, half- 
sarcastic, half-triumphant laugh. 

" I couldn't have won you. Let me lose 
you decently ! " he answered, and began to 
pick at the knotted rope around his waist. 

Suddenly, flashingly, the meaning of what 
he saw came to O'Rorke. He hammered his 
fist upon the rock. 

" No ! " he yelled, his voice rising to odd, 
shrill notes of passion. " No ! Wait two 

minutes — one ! I can save you — both of 
you ! I can do it — now — now ! " 

Carthew hesitated and looked up, his hand 
still at his waist. But O'Rorke had vanished 
for the moment — he was standing upon his 
feet on the uncertain verge, sending swift, 
rippling motions up the lariat, which hung 
upon the projection above. It leaped from 
its place and dropped like a falling serpent 
upon his head. Coiling it to him, he sank 
back into his prone position along the verge. 

The next instant the rawhide had whistled 
upon another flight. It dropped upon the 
Englishman's shoulders, slipped past them, 
and was drawn tight beneath his arms. 

" Now ! " cried O'Rorke, exultantly. " Nov/ 
unknot your waist ! " 

The next moment Muriel Frenton gave a 
gasp of relief. For the rope below her no 
longer dragged her down — it was loose, 
swinging out upon the breeze. And Carthew ? 
He seemed to be travelling upwards by leaps 
and bounds, so little a thing did the great 
strength of the man above make of the weight 
of the man below. They met upon the verge, 
those two, and met silently. Till their task 
was done they wasted no words. Carefully, 
gently, and together, they laid hands upon 
the other rope and drew Muriel into safety. 
But it was in O'Rorke's arms that she lay at 
last — in his alone. 

The young moon was setting as the Bishop 
tapped out his pipe and turned to Carthew, 
who sat beside him. The glances of both 
were upon the pair who disappeared slowly 
into the velvet shadows of the hotel garden. 
Muriel's father gave a little sigh. 

" Of course, I've given my consent — there 
was no reason that I shouldn't and every 
reason that I should," he admitted. " But 
you were my original choice, my dear fellow. 
I— I hope it'll all be for the best." 

Carthew nodded. His fingers may have 
trembled as he lit his cigarette, but the lips 
which received it smiled — an unflinching 

" He is the best— to-day he proved it," he 
answered ; and then his smile deepened and 
grew whimsical. " But on their wedding- 
day — they have made me promise to be best 
man then." 


With regard to this article a most unexpected development has occurred, of 
which we shall give full particulars next month 






Illustrated ty 
Bert Tkomas. 

LEADING journal the other 
day contained a statement to 
the effect that it was still a 
reproach against the English 
holiday resort that it lacked 
the gaiety offered by its Con- 
tinental rival ; that in our 
seaside towns little or nothing is done to 
attract and amuse possible patrons, compared 
to what is found abroad. The same authority 
went on to state that, with us, prices aue 
higher than on the other side of the Channel. 
This sort of thing has been printed so often 
in newspapers which profess to inform the 
public, that one wonders if any of the gentle- 
men who write in them have ever been abroad. 
France is practically the only country in 
Europe, except England, in which a seaside 
town is found in the sense in which we use 
the phrase. Beginning with Calais, and going 
right down to Spain, the present writer 
ventures to assert that there is not one town 
on the w f hole coast-line in which anything at 
all is done to attract the ordinary seaside 
visitor. The municipality— or what stands 
with them as a municipality — does nothing. 
This is a startling state of things when one 
considers that in practically every seaside 
town in England the municipality does some- 
thing in the first place to attract visitors, and, 
having attracted them, to amuse them. 

Begin with Holland, in which the seaside 
holiday resort, in the English sense, is found 
for the first time, and let us follow the genus 
all round the coast- line. 

Nowadays Russians get as near to the sea ? 
in the summer, as they can, but there is no 
seaside resort in Russia* Stockholm in June, 
July, and August can be delicious ; people 
there seem to make holiday all day and all 
night long. But one would hardly call it a 
seaside resort. Heligoland is the nearest 
thing to a seaside resort provided by the 
German Empire, which is one reason why 
Germans are found in such numbers outside 
their own country during the summer months. 
The first town by the sea, the end and aim of 
whose being is to attract holiday-seekers f is 
— let it be repeated — to be found in Holland— 
and the name of it is Scheveningen, 

Scheveningen is by way of being a curiosity. 
Some people might call it picturesque ; no one 
could call it pretty. It is really nothing but 
a sandy waste. When I first knew Scheven- 
ingen it was a village, all sand ; now it has 
nearly thirty thousand people, and just as 
much sand. It is the first place in which 
the " gaiety 3 ' of the Continental seaside town 
is encountered. It takes the form, as it 
always does, of the Casino ; here it is called the 
Kursaal,^ . 

We are always being told in England, by 



2 75 

presumably well informed people in our daily 
papers, that what we lack is the Casino. There 
is not an English seaside town in which a 
Casino is to be found. 

The Kursaal at Scheveningen is a very large 
one ; it need be, because in the season there 
are a very large number of visitors, and at 
night they are practically all crammed into it. 
There is accommodation for people to eat and 
drink, and there is no place in England — not 
excluding the smart London restaurants — 
where they charge you more, and very few 
where thev charge vou as much. The dinner 
which you will get in London, say for half-a- 
guinea, will cost you in the Kursaal at 
Scheveningen at least twice that sum, and the 



food l and the cooking, will not be so good, 
while the service will be very much worse. 
There is a band in the Kursaal — in a large 
room, in which the people are packed like 
sardines, and in which there is no ventilation* 
There arc other things which represent 

some of the things 
which are to be found in an old- 
fashioned English fair are offered 
to patrons at prices which suggest 
that they arc worth much more in 
Holland than they are at home. 

Scheveningen is a suburb of The 
Hague. If you stay at an hotel 
in The IJa-uc during the summer 
months, the head waiter will pro- 
bably iisk you, as you are going 
out in the morning, at what iiour 
you propose to dine. It you ob- 
serve that you prof>ose to dine 
at Scheveningen you will be informed that 
that will make no difference to the hotel, 
since dinner will figure in the bill whether 
you have it or not* If you do not like 
that amusing arrangement you can take 




There is no place in England where it costs 
more money to spend your holiday, and where 
you get less for your money, than at Scheven- 
ingen, or its near neighbour, The Hague. 

Ostend is the next seaside holiday resort 
along the European coast-line, with its ad- 
juncts Blankenberghe and Westende, and 
Nieuport a little farther on. 

I once saw more than forty thousand pounds 
won by a player in one sitting at Trente et 
Quarante in the Ostend Casino ; which was 
lost the same night — or rather in the small 
hours of the following morning — in a club, 
conveniently close at hand, where people 
played after the Casino was closed. In the 
conduct of that club the administration of the 
Casino also had a hand. Before the sitting 
was through, the administration came out 
on top. 

Those were the " palmy " days of Ostend ; 
when cocottes from all over Europe flocked to 
Ostend to pick up what they could. Ladies 
of that kind are at Ostend still — in the season ; 
but they are not exactly of the same class, 
because the sort of people who used to fill the 
pockets of the Ostenders are there no longer. 

There remain to Ostend the long row of 
hotels which, almost without exception, charge 
exorbitant prices for indifferent accommoda- 
tion, and the Digue — that is, the Front — and 
the plage — that is, the shore. 

The sandy shore at Ostend is, in its way, 
fine. If you like to spend the day on the sands 
you will be suited at Ostend. If you are a 
family man you can hire a cabine at a pretty 
stiff price ; under its shelter, with your wife 
and family, you can spend an unexciting 
holiday ; but it is not gay. Not though there 
is a Kursaal as well as a Casino in which to 
spend your nights. 

A certain sort of print is fond of suggesting 
that there is a gloriously wicked fascination 
about the Ostend plage. Ladies are supposed 
to wear startling bathing costumes, and to 
display their usually hidden proportions when 
indulging in the amusement which is ironically 
called bathing. Watching that sort of tiling 
is supposed to be exciting. If that is the case, 
then one had much better take a trip, say, to 
Atlantic City, where men and women pass the 
better part of the day in bathing suits, lolling 
about anyhow and anywhere. As regards 
the display of the feminine figure, Ostend 
pales beside Atlantic City. 

There is no country for miles worth speaking 
of — it is flat, monotonous, treeless, ugly. It 
is expensive — that, nowadays, is the chief 
feature of Ostend. People who do not wish 
to be fleeced quite so much go to Blanken- 

berghe, Nieuport, Westende, three of Ostend's 
uninteresting, ugly neighbours. There golf is 
to be had — of a sort ; there are no links quite 
so bad to be found anywhere in England, but ' 
when you are abroad you play golf on any- 
thing. There is a race-course, where the 
racing is a bad and expensive imitation of 
what takes place in Brussels every afternoon 
in the Bois de la Cambre. At Blankenberghe 
there is a Casino and a theatre ; there is a 
Digue ; of its kind the bathing is not bad ; 
and the prices are going up every year. 

One passes, in search of the " gaiety " of 
which the newspaper gentleman spoke, to 
France. We begin with Calais-Plage, a 
curious summer resort, which is frequented 
chiefly by the people of Saint Pierre de 
Calais ; pass on to Le Touquet and Paris- 
Plage — which are practically the same place. 
The first is a golfing resort, where people live 
on the links ; the second is where one bathes. 
There are fine sands, some decent tennis, but 
though there are two Casinos neither can be 
called a haunt of " gaiety." Indeed, from 
their patrons' point of view they would be 
spoilt if they were. Boulogne is the first real 
seaside town on the other side of the Channel 
— at least, from the point of view of the man 
in the street. 

Englishmen go to Boulogne on excursion 
steamers from Folkestone, from Ramsgatfe, 
from Margate, from Brighton, and goodness 
knows where besides. Their knowledge of 
Boulogne extends only to the Casino. A 
look-out is kept for the English excursion 
steamer, and as soon as one nears the harbour, 
no matter at what hour, the officials at the 
Casino get out the tables on which one used 
to play the " little horses," and on which one 
now plays instead a stupid game, which is 
known as La Boule. The boat stops at the 
quay, the passengers land, at least ninety per 
cent, of them make straight for the Casino, 
where most of them remain until they return 
to their native shores — having seen France 
and left most of their money behind. After 
all, there is some excuse for them, because, if 
it were not for what they call " a gamble " at 
the Casino, one wonders what the ordinary 
English tripper would find to see or do in 

Next Dieppe — which, to-day, is probably 
the gayest of all the French seaside towns. 
We have passed Treport, which is probably 
the most distinctly French ; not at all a bad 
place if you like that sort of thing. There is 
a quaint, not unpicturcsque town, a harbour 
— of a kind, formed by the mouth of the 
Bref.I^.r^i-p^Pf^a respectable stretch of 



unci in a 1 




sand, covered with tahines of various sorts and 
shapes and sizes, in which most of the visitors 
pass a great deal of their time. The females 
work, the males read, and tlie smaller child- 
ren frisk about on the sands. The family 
b&the, as a whole, with other families ; they 

gambling throughout the land of France ; 
so a law was passed to put it down. The 
" little horses " were taken away, and, 
instead, they installed La Boule — though why 
one is gambling and the other is not no man 
knows. They are practically the same thing, 

go in well above their knees, with shrieks 
coming from the shore if they go in much 
deepen They join hands, form a huge ring, 
dance round and round, splashing themselves 
sometimes all over. For other forms of 
" gaiety " they go to the Casino, where they 
play La Boule for a franc limit, Treport is 
not at all a bad place — but, compared to 
Dieppe ! 

Dieppe is M. Bloch, and M. Bloch is the 
Casino , and the Casino is Dieppe. There is 
golf on the hill, and sometimes the links, 
which are arranged on an ingenious principle, 
are so crowded that it is a wonder the players 
do not hit each other. 

Some of the country round Dieppe is 
charming. Puy is a not unpicturesque near 
neighbour ; on the other side, over the hill, is 
Pourville, a u family resort," with its plage 
and its Casino, and its chalet built right on the 
sands. Away from the sea is the forest , and 
the castle of Arques, whose history has great 
interest for English folk, and some really 
■ pleasant country for walks and drives. 

But people go to Dieppe for none of these 
things— they go to gamble. And there you 
have the real attraction of the French seaside 
town— gambling. At Dieppe you can play 
La Boule — that stupid game. There used to 
be Petit* Ckevaux, which , at least, was 
amusing to watch — for five minutes or so. 
The French Government, though non-religious,, 
is moral* It was decided to put down 

but instead of the little horses which galloped 
round the top of the table, they have cut a 
round hole in the centre of the table, where 
the " little horses " used to be ? and into this 
cavity they have fitted a sort of round 
wooden bowl, on which the numbers one to 
nine are painted., each in a little compart- 
ment of its own, arranged not in sequence, 
but anyhow, and each number recurs twice. 
An official stands in front of this round pond ; 
he takes a solid rubber ball, the sort which 
we call a dog-ball \ with his fingers he rolls it 
round the outside of the pond, into which 
presently it falls, and bobs from number to 
number, until at last it rests in one— and the 
people who have staked a franc upon that 
one get their franc back and seven more 
besides. You can also stake what is called 
an even chance on the columns ; there are 
four numbers in a column on one side of the 
table, and four numbers on the other. If a 
number which is contained in the column on 
which you have staked a franc wins, you win 
a franc ; but between the two columns, in 
the centre of the table, by itself, is the number 
five ; and if the number five wins, all bets on 
the columns go to the bank— which is good 
for the bank. 

It will thus be seen by the intelligent 
reader that La Boule is a game at which there 
can only be one winner — and that is the bank. 
A most cursorv examination of the odds will 






La Boide must bring in quite a respectable 
revenue to the Dieppe Casino. Still, it is not 
from that that the major part of the profits 
i; derived, but from " Le Cerdf" Cerde 
means club. The dictionary nearest to hand 
defines a club as " an organization of persons 
who meet for social intercourse or other 
common object, the members of which are 
usually limited in number and chosen by 
ballot.*' That certainly does not define a club 
as it is found in a Continental Casino, 

There a club is simply a gambling-hell* It 
h not a pretty phrase, but that is what it is. 
Everyone is admitted. You present your 

visiting- card ; they 
give you, on the in- 
stant, a card of mem- 
bership—for which 
sometimes you pay 
some thing ? and some- 
times nothing, In the 
club at the Conti- 
nental Casino they 
play baccarat , with 
occasional excursions 
into chemin de fer t 
They play for all 
sorts of stakes — it 
depends. Sometimes 
a bank is opened for 
fifty francs, some- 
times for fifty thou- 
sand. A figure some- 
where between those 
two may be regarded 
as the average. The 
Casino takes ten per 
cent, on whatever 
sum the bank is 

J opened for. As there 

are gentlemen whose 
only ostensible pro- 
fession is to act as 
banker, and who are 
to be found acting in 
that capacity in 
Casinos all over 
Europe at different 
seasons of the year, 
it is to be presumed 
that the profession is 
a lucrative one. 

You do not find 
much gambling at 
Fecamp , though you 
can get it if you are 
there at the right 
moment ; nor at Etre- 
tat, which place is a 
curiosity. It is a sort of gingerbread village, 
its normal population h under two thousand, 
but into it, in the summer; they cram 
goodness knows how many. It is situated in 
a sort of hole in the cliff ; a bridge might be 
slung from cliff to cliff, and you might run over 
it without knowing that Ktretat was there. 
The same people go year after year, There 
is the kind of golf which one does get abroad, 
and sports are got up by the visitors, in which 
nearly everyone takes a part. The country 
round is not pretty or interesting* Etretat 
mav be umquSftairifc is scarcely *' £av/' 

Som 1.l^Pfi?.t^D l F i hf([11FS*,l9« is Saint « 



Adresse, There used to be a Casino at Marie 
Christine, and a second at Havre ; but an 
arrangement was arrived at by which both 
these Casinos were done away with, and a new 
Casino was built half-way between the two on 
the confines of Sainte Adresse. It contains a 
bare and comfortless theatre, the usual salle 
des jeux, and very little else, but such as it is 
it represents all the" gaiety " of the neigh- 

One can hardly call Havre a holiday resort, 
though two or three days spent there would 
hardly be wasted , especially in the company 
of a motor-car, for It is not at all a bad centre 
for excursions. There is a town — if it can be 
called a town — that can be reached from 
Havre, which, from the Parisian point of viewj 
is to all intents and purposes the one seaside 
town in France — and that is Trouville, 

Trouville is, in the season , one of the most 
expensive spots in Europe, which is one 
reason why the English do not flock there. 
It i on tains what is assuredly one of the most 
expensive hotels in Europe, The individual 
who takes his wife and family to the Hotel des 
Roches Noires for, say, a month in the high 
season, and does them really well — that is, 
gives them the best which the house has to 
offer — when he comes away — if he has paid his 
bill — has left a small fortune behind him. 

The idea that an Englishman, because he is 
being charged a high price, is being cheated is 

absurd. Nowadays — whatever it 
used to he once upon a time — an 
Englishman in a really smart hotel 
in France is looked at askance, 
French people on pleasure bent are 
much more extravagant than we are ; 
they do not seem to care what they 
spend, I remember dining once at 
Trouville, w r hen a basket of nectarines 
was offered by the head waiter. They 
were quite nice nectarines, but that 
head waiter wanted twenty-five francs 
apiece, A pound for two or three 
mouthfuls seemed to me too much — 




but those nectarines all went ! There was 
scarcely a Frenchman in the room who did 
not treat himself tq f ra n -, At the next table to 

min wmM^#.ftRift^ d his daughter 



— they had three apiece ; nine pounds for 
dessert as a wind-up to an extremely expen- 
sive dinner ! 

Trouville is an odd little place — with its 
neighbour Deauville, where the races are held ; 
it contains fewer than nine thousand in- 
habitants. It has no front ; hotels, villas, 
restaurants come right down to the shore. 
They have imitated a great watering-place in 
America, and constructed a board-walk. 
Boards are laid upon the sands themselves, 
so as to form a sort of floor, and that is the only 
promenade there is. In race week the show 
on this board-»walk is worth seeing — once. I 
know men who hold that the finest women in 
Europe are to be seen at Trouville — that is a 
question of taste ; one certainly sees the most 
remarkable costumes. There is a sort of fair 
on the sands. Bathing boxes and such-like 
things are placed right down by the water's 
edge. The scene on the plage on a fine morn- 
ing in August is certainly a gay one. We have 
" gaiety " in a Continental seaside resort at 
last ; but it must be distinctly understood 
that it is gaiety of a peculiar kind. 

The fact is that the Casino is the beginning 
and end of Trouville — and that the Casino 
stands for gambling. There is probably more 
play in the Casino during the short Trouville 
season than in all the other French watering- 
places put together. 

You can get play, and quite good play, on 
all that coast — at Deauville, Dives, Villers, 
Cabourg, and Houlgate — but in that respect 
they all of them pale their ineffectual fires as 
compared with Trouville. 

Perhaps that is what our friends in the 
newspapers mean when they write of the 
gaiety which is to be found abroad ; they 
regard " gaiety " as a synonym for 
" gambling." Because, as will be seen, there 
is little " gaiety " of any other kind to be 

One takes a jump when one leaves Cabourg, 
across the peninsula, which is crowned by 
Cherbourg, until one reaches Granville. 
There you have a typical French holiday 
resort of another kind, and one can hardly 
find one less inviting. Passing Mont Saint 
Michel, where — though it is one of the sights 
of Europe — only very few people stay even 
a night, the next seaside resort is Parame. 
At Parame there is an immense expanse of 
sand, and nothing else. For people with 
children in the spade-and-bucket stage it 
may have attractions. It is bounded by 
Saint Malo, a quaint, old, walled town, rich in 
smells. On the other side of the mouth of 
the Ranee is Brittany, and the first Breton 

seaside resort which, although in that remote 
spot, is almost more English than French — 

There is no doubt that in the summer 
Dinan can be cheerful. Those of its patrons 
who are not English are, for the most part. 
American ; the amusements provided are 
suited to their palates. There is a social 
club — quite a nice club, to whose member- 
ship both sexes are eligible. You have 
tennis and tea, and all sorts of delights, just 
as you have, to quote an instance, in the 
club, say, at Shanklin. There is one very 
expensive hotel, and others quite expensive 
enough. There is a Casino with — as a 
French advertising syndicate puts it — " the 
usual attractions of thermal resorts." 

After Dinan, on the French coast, what is 
there ? There are practically no seaside 
resorts in Brittany ; I know France pretty 
well, and it happens to be one of the parts of 
it which I love best. But, in the popular 
sense, Brittany is not gay. Roscoff, in 
Finist£re, is, perhaps, the seaside resort 
which comes next to Dinan, though that 
entails a longish jump. In the popular 
sense, Roscoff is not gay, it does not want to 
be gay ; its present patrons would probably 
not go there if it were. There are visitors to 
be found along the Breton coast, in queer, 
out-of-the-way nooks and corners, but the 
nearest approach to a popular resort is Pont 
Aven — which is not upon the sea, though 
pretty near it. 

With a certain set of people Pont Aven 
has become quite the vogue of recent years. 
It is in the south of Finist£re.. It is still, at 
present, but a village, which is going to grow ; 
possibly one of its chief attractions is its 
inaccessibility. It is a long way from every- 
where. Pont Aven has qualities which appeal 
to some folk ; their number is increasing 
every year. But, in the newspaper sense, 
Pont Aven is not gay. 

One passes, after leaving Brittany, all 
along the coast of France without finding 
what is understood in England as a seaside 
town until one reaches Arcachon, in Gironde. 
The English go there in the winter ; some of 
them live there ; in summer it is crowded 
with French — when it is almost gay. There 
is no organized attempt made to amuse 
visitors, as is done with us, and, for the most 
part, they are not the sort of visitors who 
would care for that kind of amusement. 
French people, of the better sort, like to amuse 
themselves in their own way — though I have 
a theory that that is because they never have 
a chanqeu<Pit,bging amused ( 4n.aijvi other way. 



Luna Park, in Paris, has been a great success. 
If some enterprising individual were to plant 
a Luna Park in one of the coast towns, 
transform it into a sort of Blackpool, it would 
be found that people from all over France 
would flock there to be amused. The French 
are, if anything, fonder of amusement than 
the English. 

As yet there is nothing of the kind in 
France — certainly not at Biarritz, which is 
the last seaside resort in France, saving Saint 
Jean de Luz, which is really Spanish. I 
am not suggesting that France would be any 
better off with a Blackpool — that is a matter 
of opinion. I do not think that it would be 
any worse off. I should like to see the people 
flocking there ; the railway companies would 
have to revise their methods of transport if 
they wished to deal adequately with the 
resulting crowd. I do think that some 
French coast town might offer something 
besides the eternal Casino to amuse its patrons. 
The Casino, as it exists at present, is an 
incubus ; one has to go there morning, noon, 
and night if one wants to do something ; in 
some places one has even to go there if one 
wants to bathe. And the Casino means 
gambling — let there be no nonsense about 
that. If people want to gamble, so far as I 
am concerned, let them, but that, in the 
summer-time, there should be nothing to do 
but gamble — no one surely suggests that that 
is as it should be. 

If a visitor attends a theatrical performance, 
a concert, or a dance, there .are frequent long 
intervals, which are made as long as possible 
so that he may be driven into the gaming- 
room, and leave at least a few francs behind 
him. An enormous number of persons, both 
English and French, come away from the 
Casino-haunted French coast town wishing 
they had never been there — they have not 
benefited by their holiday. Probably the 
immense majority of persons who visit the 
English seaside town in summer are all the 
better for going there. 

Let it not be supposed that there is any 

intention to disparage the Continental holiday 
resort, or to hint that the English one is 
perfection. Not a bit of it. It is merely 
suggested that to write of Continental 
" gaiety " is to write of something which, in 
the writer's sense, hardly exists. What is 
found abroad is change — of atmosphere, 
surroundings, life. Some very charming French 
people of my acquaintance are of opinion 
that the two most delightful places in which 
to spend a holiday are in England — Folkestone 
and Brighton. There is nothing in the whole 
of France, they maintain, to compare with 
them in the way of gaiety — and I say that is 
true. Comparisons are odious. Brighton is 
near to London, we are all of us familiar with 
it, we know its drawbacks. But what a 
town it is ! How it tries to offer amusement 
— " gaiety " — to suit the palate of every sort 
of visitor ; and what you do not find at 
Brighton you find at Folkestone — verdure-clad 
cliffs and no King's Road. There are more 
than a dozen coast towns in England which 
are not to be matched in France, or even 
approached anywhere abroad. There are 
intimate subjects, such as sanitation, of which 
in the French coast town one had better not 
think. There are still numberless hotels 
without a bathroom ; where there is one they 
charge you half a crown or three shillings for 
a bath ! 

Yet there is always this to be said — when 
one crosses the Channel one lands in another 
world. I have spent a large portion of my 
life abroad, and I feel that still. There is 
something to be got in France which is not to 
be had in England. It is not easy to define 
what it is, but all travellers know the thing 
is true. My own taste inclines towards the 
Roscoffs and the Pont Averifc, because there 
one can live a sort of life which is not to be 
lived in England. The same remark applies 
to your Dieppes and your Trouvilles — there 
is nothing like them on this side. But, oh ! 
gentlemen of the Press, tlo not counsel your 
readers, in search of gaiety and economy, to 
go abroad ! 


by Google 

Original from 


GENT was 

not a little 
surprised to be 
called on in his 
chambers in the 
Middle Temple by 
Mr. Smith, of the 
firm of Smith, 
fay lor , and Broad- 
wood. He knew 
quite well that this 
firm of solicitors had 
a practice which did 
not wholly com- 
mend itself to the 
ambitions, to say 
nothing of the 
ethics, of most lawyers. It 
was an exceedingly odd thing 
for a solicitor of this reputa- 
tion to call on a rising junior, 
who for some years had not 
seen the inside of a police- 
court save as a matter of 
curiosity. He turned to his 
clerk with an air of surprise. 

" Smith, of Taylor, Smith, 
and Broad wood/* he said ; 
"what can he want with 
me ? " 

u lie didn't say, sir/' replied 
the clerk, "but he is very 
anxious to see you, and offers 
to wait/' 

w Send him in," said Mark 
Nugent; " I'll see him." 

In another minute Mr. Smith 
entered. The two men were 
a strange contrast. Nugent was but thirty- 
five, and had an extraordinarily acute and 
sympathetic legal face. On the other hand, 
Mr. Smith of the subfusc firm was a mean- 
looking, elderly man with a twittering manner 
and an anxious eye. He seemed nervous, 

** Mr. Nugent ? " he asked, as he came in. 

"Yes," said Nugent; (lr pray take a seat, 
Mr, Smith, May I ask what you want to see 
me for ? " 

" Well, sir/' said the solicitor., sitting on the 
edge of his chair as if he were a person of no 
importance and little confidence, " the fact 


of "the (His 




is, I'm a bit nervous 
about opening it to 
you. I want you 
to do something 
which I'm afraid 
you will not be in- 
clined to do/ 1 

"And pray, what 
is i t ? " asked 

"The fact is," 
said Mr. Smith, "I 
have been asked to 
get you to defend a 
lady in the police- 
court to-morrow. " 

Nugent shook his 
head, " My dear 
have not done that 
of thing for many 


sir, I 



" Well, of course, that's 
what I understood 3 and 
indeed it's what 1 said to 
the lady," replied the little 
solicitor, " but she was ex- 
ceedingly anxious for you 
to defend her. In fact, she 
simply won't have anybody 

" Well, what is the case ? " 
asked Nugent. M What is it all 
about ? What's she in for ? " 
Mr, Smith explained to him 
that this particular lady had 
been arrested at Tilbury's that 
very morning for stealing a 
purse. He ow T ned that the case 
seemed strong against her. 
u Well/ 1 said Nugent, u it is not my line. 
There are scores of men you can get who are 
far better acquainted with the magistrates 
and their ways and the whole matter of police- 
court procedure than I am now." 

" That's what I told her," said Mr. Smith. 
tl But it's no good talking to her — and indeed 
I wish you would do it, And I wish you'd 
see her," 

4 ' See her ? " said Mark Nugent. " Why 
should I see her ? " 

Smith hesitated before replying, and then 
he buiat.o^^^^^ir, the fact 



of the matter is I'm very anxious to oblige her. 
She's a most remarkable-looking young lady." 

" Oh, she's young, is she ? " said Nugent. 

"Very young, Mr. Nugent, hardly more 
than a child to look at, though I'm sure she's 
twenty-five or six, really. Inspector Harrison 
rang me up and asked me to go round and see 
her, and of course I thought it was the usual 
scoundrel from Lisson Grove, or perhaps a 
burglar. But instead of that kind of ruffian, 
to whom I am thoroughly accustomed, it was 
a young lady." 

" Ah, is she really that ? " asked Nugent. • 

" Undoubtedly," replied Smith. " Do you 
know what I said when I saw her — I mean 
what I said to myself ? " 

" No," said Nugent. 

" Well, begging your pardon, Mr. Nugent, 
I said, ' By heavens^ the young Sistine 
Madonna ! ' " 

Mr. Smith looked perhaps the last man in 
London to know anything about the Sistine 
Madonna, and Nugent stared at him. 

" Ah," said Nugent, " the Sistine Madonna ? 
Then you know the picture ? " 

" I have never seen the original," said the 
solicitor, sorrowfully, " but I've got three 
reproductions of it in my house. I'm very 
fond of engravings, sir, especially of Madonnas. 
I don't know why, but I am. Oh, I should 
very much like you, Mr. Nugent, to strain a 
point and defend her." 

" What's the defence ? " asked Nugent. 

The solicitor shook his head. 

"The girl's looks," he said. "Nothing 
else, upon my oath and affidavit." 

" And will these appeal to the magistrate ? " 

According to Smith they would possibly 
not appeal to Mr. Chisholm. He shook his 
head dolorously. 

" Two assistants swear to it and her," he 
said, " and the firm has been getting rather 
vicious lately. But there, she's quite won- 
derful. I don't know what it is — there was 
something about her which quite upset me." 

" She's wonderful, is she ? " asked Nugent. 

" Quite w r onderful," said Mr. Smith. 
" You'll see what I mean in one minute. I 
give you my word that when I saw her it was 
just as if I saw the young Madonna. As I 
said, I'm very fond of pictures — I've got an 
etching of Rembrandt's at home." 

" Oh, have you ? " said Nugent. 

" Yes, I picked it up for one-and-sixpence," 
said Smith, in the delicious tremble of a happy 

" I am half inclined to do it for you," said 

" Thank you," said the solicitor. " I'm 

Digitized by LiQOglC 

most obliged to you. And could you do 
something else for her ? " continued the 
solicitor. " She — she wants to see you." 

It is not at all usual for a barrister to go to 
the cells to see an ordinary prisoner in a police- 
court case. He takes his instructions from 
the solicitor, and does his work in open court, 
where he sees his client for the first time. 

" You haven't told me her name," said the 

" Miss Nina Stewart." 

" Nina Stewart ? " said Nugent, thought- 
fully. " I don't remember knowing anybody 
of the name. I did know some Stewarts 
many years ago, but then the father was 
pretty well off." 

" Then it couldn't be the same," said the 
solicitor. " Of course, she may have seen 
you, or heard of you in some way. But I do 
wish you'd see her." 

" I think I might," said Nugent. 

Somehow what Mr. Smith had said strangely 
interested him. He was obviously sincere, 
and it was very curious to see such a man 
understanding the beauty of the Madonna di 
San Sisto, and actually possessing an etching 
which he supposed to be a Rembrandt. 

" Yes," said Nugent ; " I'll come now, if 
you like." 

" I should be very glad if you would," said 
Mr. Smith. " And as soon as I've taken you 
there and got through with it I've got to go 
down to Brixton to see her mother. I 
promised I would." 

" Then she has a mother ? " said Nugent. 

" Yes, an invalid," said the solicitor. " She 
is very anxious that she should not know. 
I'm going down to say that her daughter is 
staying in my house with my wife because 
she has sprained her ankle." 

At the police-station Harrison, the house 
inspector, met them and saluted Mark Nugent 
respectfully, and they were taken directly to 
the girl's cell. 

Outside the door the solicitor stopped, and 
said again, almost with agitation, " Mr. 
Nugent, I give you my word — the Sistine 
Madonna when she was young." 

As soon as the door swung open Mark 
Nugent felt that the little man had spoken 
the truth. But even more than that, though 
it perhaps came out of her likeness to the 
young Madonna of whom Smith spoke, he had 
a dim sense of far-off acquaintanceship with 
the girl whose eyes, pellucid and melancholy, 
rested on his own with a strange and nervous 
appeal. She was like something dimly 
remembered, like a dream recalled — some 
confused ■vision ith^t.-repeats itself, that a 








Original from 



man half believes to be a memory. That 
she was beautiful he saw, but there was so 
much more than beauty in her that he half 
forgot it, even as he felt that the loveliness 
he found in her was not the kind that every 
eye would see. 

Her strange dignity swayed Nugent. She 
was painful, interesting, disturbing yet 
peaceful. His heart was full of shame 
for her. 

" My dear young lady, this is Mr. Nugent," 
said the solicitor. 

She was already standing, and Nugent 
offered her his hand. " I am grieved," he 
said, simply. 

Both of those who knew the world were 
abashed before her, while a tear ran down her 

" I thank you," she said, in a low voice 
with tears in it. 

" Come, sit down and tell me all about it," 
said Nugent, kindly. # 

He was still young, and she seemed in- 
finitely young ; she was youth itself. And 
yet when he saw her eyes, dark blue-grey, 
like a misty pool overhung by reeds and shaded 
by foliage, she seemed infinitely old, and like 
an immortal. And as she spoke he wondered 
the more. " Where have I seen her ? " he 

It seemed that she was very poor, and lived 
with her mother in rooms in Brixton. They 
had no friends. Yet everything in her voice 
and her appearance told the barrister that 
she had once known what the unhappy poor 
call better days. From what she told him 
it seemed that two assistants at Tilbury's 
were prepared to swear they saw her take a 
purse which one of the women customers had 
laid upon the counter. As it was a sale they 
were unable, it seemed, to get hold of her at 
once — the crowd was very large. They said 
they saw her go rapidly into another depart- 
ment, and when they reached her the purse 
was discovered lying almost at her feet, as if 
she had dropped it to cover up the fact when 
she saw people coming straight to her. 

Nugent listened, and watched her as she 
spoke. And all the time his mind kept saying, 
44 1 think she did it— I think she did it." And 
yet when he looked at her he felt it could not 
be true. Before they went, Nugent turned to 
Smith and said, " I should like to speak to this 
young lady just for one minute." 

When they were alone he turned to her and 
asked, " My dear young lady, have we never 
met before ? " 

For a moment she hesitated, and then shook 
her head. [; 

" Yet you asked for me to defend you," 
said Nugent. "Why?" 

44 I had heard of you," she said, with down- 
cast eves. 

"Tell me how? "he asked. 

" I would rather not," said the girl. " I 
felt that I must ask you. I hope you wiP 
forgive me, and if " 

44 If what ? " asked Nugent. 

" If — if nothing happens," she said, 
" perhaps some day I might tell you why I 
asked Mr. Smith to get you to appear for me." 

And then he went away. He drove with 
Smith as far as Westminster Bridge, and there 
left him. The solicitor was going on to 

The day was beautiful, and Mark Nugent, 
who loved the river, walked along the Embank- 
ment as he went back to the Temple. Once 
he stood and looked at the stream. Yet he 
was not thinking of what he saw, but of this 
young Madonna. Why had she sent for him ? 
Deep in his mind he felt that he knew her, and 
she appealed to him very strangely. 

It was nearly four o'clock before Mr. Smith 
returned from Brixton. He was taken 
straight in to Mark Nugent. 

44 Well, you went down there and saw the 
mother ? " said Nugent, and Smith nodded. 

44 Yes, Mr. Nugent, and she's a very wonder- 
ful lady, but shockingly poor, I should think, 
although they still have two rooms. She told 
me that they were behind with their rent and 
were under notice to quit." 

44 Is that so ? " said Mark. " But how did 
you explain this about her daughter ? " 

44 1 think I did it all right," said Smith. 
44 Mrs. Stewart seems to believe that I and 
my wife have been her daughter's friends for 
a long time. I said that the girl had sprained 
her ankle and could not walk, and now if we 
get her out and back home there will be 
nothing the matter with her." 

44 Well, that won't matter much," said 
Nugent. " But what defence can you sug- 
gest ? " 

44 Upon my word, I don't know," said the 
solicitor, looking chapfallen. " Have you 
any idea, sir ? " 

For a moment Mark Nugent did not answer. 
He seemed in a brown study. But presently 
he looked up. 

44 You said she was like the Sistine Madonna, 
Mr. Smith, and you are right ; but haven't 
you ever met other young women much like 
her, perhaps of a grosser type, but still the 
same ? Oh, I'm sure you have." 

At this Smith jumped from his seat with a 




" By Jove ! Mr. Nugent, you do give me an 
idea/ 1 he said, almost in agitation. 

" Well, what is it ? " asked the barrister. 

" Why, it's most remarkable/' said Smith. 
" I wonder it didn't occur to me before. Of 
course, you never saw the woman known as 
Emily Hopkins ? " 

" I never heard of her," said Nugent. 

" She's a notorious shoplifter," said Smith, 
" and as clever as they're made. And what's 
more, she's very like this Miss Stewart. I 
acted for her twice. Once I got her off, and 
once she went up for three months. I wonder 
if I could find her." 

" What would you do if you did ? " asked 

" Well, my idea was," said Smith, " to 
get her to come into court, and you could 
ask the witnesses whether they were pre- 
pared to swear the prisoner was the girl 
who took the purse when they saw this other 

But Nugent shook his head. 

u I daresay I surprise you," said Smith, 
with an odd shake of his head. " But there, 
I own this young lady has moved me very 
much. I'll just think about this other girl. 
She has quite a remarkable history. Raydon, 
the detective, was her sweetheart before she 
took to thieving. He'll know all about her. 
I dare say he could tell me something — he 
might get her to show up for us if we 
thought it would work with Mr. Chisholm." 

" I very much doubt if she'd put her head in 
the lion's den," said Nugent. " You'd have 
to bribe her heavily." 

But Smith stood thinking, and presently 
snapped his fingers. 

*' Ah, but I've got another notion if she 
won't," he said at last, in triumph. " I won't 
tell you, Mr. Nugent, because it's as well you 
shouldn't know. But I'm not going to let 
Miss Stewart go up if I can help it. I'll go 
down to Scotland Yard at once and see if I 
can find Raydon. If I have to pay her can I 
count on your help ? " 

" Of course," said Nugent, " and let me 
know over the telephone anything that 

By good luck Smith found Raydon at the 
Yard, and very soon was told everything 
about Emily Hopkins. She had not been in 
trouble for a long time, although it was quite 
obvious that she had been working very hard. 
According to Raydon, she was anxious to 
leave the country and go to a lover who was 
abroad somewhere. He had a farm, which 
she was apparently doing something to 
finance out of her plunder. At the moment, 

however, she was living in comfortable rooms 
in Trinity Square, in the Borough. 

When Smith left Raydon he took a cab 
and went straight down to the Borough. 
Good luck still pursued him. He found Miss 
Hopkins at home. He sent up his card with a 
communication on it which reminded her 
that he had been of legal assistance to her in 
the past, and was anxious to see her on a 
point which might be to her great personal 
advantage. She consented to receive him. 

He went upstairs with great anxiety. He 
wondered if he had been right in thinking 
that she really did resemble Miss Stewart. 
He was astonishingly relieved when he entered 
the room and saw her. She was certainly of 
the same type. She even had something of 
the same air of innocence, which had no 
doubt stood her in good stead on many occa- 
sions. In fact, she and Nina Stewart might 
have been two sisters, one brought up in 
decent surroundings, the other pitchforked 
into the whirlpool and maelstrom of criminal 

" Well, what d'you want with me, Mr. 
Smith ? " she said, doubtfully. " No trouble, 
I hope? ' Personal advantage to me ' — oh, 
yes ! I say, what d'you want ? " 

" Come, now, didn't I get you out of trouble 
once ? " asked Mr. Smith, cheerfully. " You 
know I did. And I suppose if I put twenty 
pounds in your way now you'd consider that 
a bit of an obligation, wouldn't you ? " 

" Well, what d'you want with me, and what 
about this twenty pounds ? " asked the shop- 

" I hear you're thinking of emigrating to 
Canada soon," said Smith. 

" Who said I was goin' to Canada ? " 
asked Miss Hopkins. " Nobody knows where 
I'm goin'." 

" I don't care where you're going," said 
Smith. " What I want you to do is to go 

" To-night!" said Miss Hopkins. "It 
couldn't be done." 

" Come, now," said Smith, " I want you 
to take twenty pounds just for writing me a 
letter and saying you are going to Australia, 
or Africa, or anywhere you like." 

" I'm not goin' to tell you where I'm goin'," 
said Miss Hopkins, shaking her head. " Far 
from it. But what's this game you're after ? 
Out with it ! Don't beat about the bush. If 
you've got twenty pounds to give away, 'and 
it over. Now, what's the game ? " 

Mr. Smith began to tell her something of 
the game. " There was a young lady arrested 

yMter *ri#m^^™rHiGAN 





" Oh ! " said Emily Hopkins. M Tilbury's 
— ah + Tilbury's isn't such an easy plate as it 
used to be. They've gut some blighted 
smart J uns there now. Oh, you do have to 
be nippy there. But what about this young 
lady ? " 

41 She was arrested," said Smith, 4l for 
stealing a purse t so they say, and two of 
Tilbury's people swear she took it + The 
evidence is strong, although it's all a mistake, 
and, curiously enough, it happens she's very 
like you j Miss Hopkins — a jolly handsome 

li Now that's very remarkable," said Miss 
Hopkins, much pleased with the implied 

" What's remarkable ? " asked Smith. 

** Her beiii' like me," said Miss Hopkins, 
i( and me bein' at Tilbury's yesterday." 

" Get anything there ? " asked Smith , with 
an air of pleased expectation, 

" Oh, somethin' + Just enough for the 
trouble," said Miss Hopkins. " My last 
racket, it was. I said, f 1*11 just go and 
do Tilbury's in the eye once more, and 
then I'll never touch another thing so long 
as I live that I don't pay for, or my young 

man don't pay for, or ain't given to me 
straight. 1 " 

" What did you do at Tilbury's yester- 
day ? ? ' asked the solicitor. 

" Just a bit of lace," said Miss Hopkins. 
" Good stuff , too. Oh j I know lace when I 
see it — I don't believe there's anybody in 
London knows it better than I do. But 
about this young lady— what d'you want rne 
to do ? " 

" Why," said Smith, t( I want you to write 
a letter to Mr. Chisholm and say that you were 
in Tilbury's yesterday/ 3 

** Oh, Chisholm ?— rum old boy," said Miss 
Hopkins. u Not a bad old sort., although he 
did send me up." 

* b I want vou to write and say you were at 

" Well, so 1 was," said Miss Hopkins. 

u And you must say that you took a purse." 

" Oh, no, I never took a purse," said Miss 
Hopkins. M Didn't I tell you it was lace?" 

" That doesn't matter," said Mr. Smith, 
" I want you to say you took a purse, and that 
you understand that this young lady is very 
like you, and that it was quite easy for her to 
have been mistaken for vou. And vou can 




say anything you like — that you've given up 
the profession and are going to Australia — if 
you're not — or anywhere you please. And 
my notion is that you should start to-night, 
and we'll pay your fare to where you're going 
and give you a bit over." 

She considered the matter, and looked up 
with a smile and said, " Well, you are a clever 
bloke. No, I don't believe I could go for a 

" It would be a jolly sight better for you if 
we arranged for you to go away to-night and 
start from Liverpool in the morning, and be 
well out to sea and away long before the case 
comes on." 

" Ah," said Miss Hopkins. " I say, Mr. 
Smith, this other young lady must be very 
tasty like. Like me, too ! How much did 
you say ? Twenty pounds ? No, I wouldn't 
do it for twenty pounds." 

" Didn't I say twenty-five ? " asked Mr. 

" No, you didn't," said Miss Hopkins. " I 
was reading a book the Other day where one 
chap said to the other chap, * Done with you 
for double the money.' I'll do it for fifty." 

" You shall have it," said Mr. Smith. 

" Crumbs ! I'm sorry I didn't ask a hun- 
dred," said Miss Hopkins. " Well, I'll do it. 
I'm ready to go, and my Tom is ready to marry 
me the moment he sets eyes on me. You tell 
me what to write, and let's have the money. 
And it isn't to be cheques, you know." 

" Don't you trouble about the money," 
said Mr. Smith. " I've got it in cash, and 
you shall have it when che letter's written, or 
rather when you give it to me. And after that 
I want you to come with me up to Jacobson's 
in Covent Garden, and I'm going to get you 
to dress up exactly like this other young lady 
and have a photograph taken of you by 
electric light by a pal of mine. D'you twig ? " 
said Mr. Smith, adopting the language which 
was most familiar to her. 

At Mr. Smith's dictation she composed the 
following letter : — 

'* My dear old Chap, I understand that there 
is a young lady charged with stealing a purse 
at Tilbury's yesterday, and I am told she's 
very like me, the dead spit of me, in fact. I 
don't believe she stole the purse, because I was 
there and took it myself, and I wouldn't like 
the young woman to get into trouble for what 
I done." 

" Now put this into an envelope," said 
Mr. Smith, " and direct it, and put it into 
your pocket, and we'll go in a cab and get 
the photograph taken. And when that's 
done we'll return home and get your things 

packed, and you shall go to Liverpool by the 

" I'mgoin' first-class ? " said Miss Hopkins. 

" Certainly," said Smith. " Of course, 
you will go first-class." 

And with that they went to Jacobson's, 
where Miss Hopkins was converted into a 
modest modern Sistine Madonna inside of 
fifteen minutes. Aftfer her complexion had 
been touched up and toned down she looked, 
as she owned, frightfully genteel, and was 
obviously pleased with herself. Mr. Smith 
conveyed her to his friencf's house and had 
her photograph taken by magnesium light, 
developed, and printed, all inside of half an 
hour. It was mounted on an old mount and 
faked a little to make it look Jess new. On 
the back of ;t she wrote : " To dear old 
Chis'iolm, from his pal Emily Hopkins." 

He got her off with her ticket to New York 
by the five-fifty-five express from Euston to 
Liverpool. As she leant out of the first-class 
carriage in which he had placed her she said, 
" Well, good-bye, Mr. Smith ; I don't suppose 
I'll ever see you again, but I do think you're a 
very clever bloke, and I'll send you a bit of 
my wedding-cake." 

Mr. Hugo Chisholm was notable among 
the magistrates of London, for though he was 
witty he did not hunger after publicity. He 
was reputed human, and, indeed, humane. 
Among those who came unwillingly to his 
court it was commonly held that if they did 
not get justice they got something more like 
justice with Mr. Chisholm than with any 
other " beak" in London. In private he was 
equally genial and kindly, and Mark Nugent 
was glad to feel that Mr. Chisholm would 
certainly remember him. Much, perhaps, 
depended on the solicitor who was prose- 
cuting. Yet, if any doubt could be thrown 
on the identity of the prisoner, Mr. Fortescue, 
who was reputed as a severe man, was not 
likely to be so hard as usual, for such severity 
would not do his clients any good. 

Nevertheless, Mark felt anxious, although 
Mr. Smith had dropped some hints as to what 
he had been doing the evening before. Out 
of a very proper respect for the Bar, the little 
solicitor had not openly included Nugent in 
his conspiracy. 

Although the morning had been dark, it 
happened that the weather brightened when 
Nina Stewart was brought in. Seeing that 
the prisoner was obviously beautiful, this was 
a good thing ; and the court, which had had 
its obscure corners when the clouds were 

inthe '^E^W^lW so sordid 



" U'lifcIS J UK t.lKL WAS H-Ai:Kl> IN TUli bO»K Si IK kAISlib II IK VKJL ACCOkUIV; JO I IJfc 

TftATfc 10OKM) AT H KR 

and dismal a den as most London police- 

When the girl was placed in the dock she 
raised her veil according to the instructions 
which Mr. Smith had given her. It was 
obvious that the magistrate looked at her 
with some interest. He proved it by taking 
off his spectacles and wiping them carefully 
t>efore he replaced them* Indeed, he seemed 
to have something more than a common 
interest in the girl w hen he heard her name was 
Stewart. He looked at her more than oncej 

and rubbed his chin, Mark Nugent lost no 
motion of the magistrate's, and wondered 
what it meant — if indeed it meant anything 
more than the fact that Mr, (hisholm, too ? 
was known to be something of a connoisseur 
in art ; and might also have recognized the 
almost pathetic likeness of this young girl to 
the Sistine Madonna. 

Her name was Nina Stewart, She lived 
at no., Wary.tah Road, lirixton. She was 






appeared for her, being instructed by Mr, 
Smith, and Mr. Fortescue, who came in at 
the last moment in a bustle, prosecuted for 
the firm. After the lady who had lost the 
purse had given her evidence t Nugent, in 
cross-examination, succeeded in making her 
a little less positive as to the identity of the 
prisoner. This was done, perhaps, not so 
much by the acuteness of his questions as by 
the charm of his manner , which was never 

He addressed her as if he were a humble 

Digitized by Vj^ 


admirer of her particular style of beauty, 
which was, indeed, flamboyant , not to say 
robust. A tyro in the psychology of the 
passions would have affirmed heartily that 
here at last the rising barrister of the Common 
Law Bar had discovered his ideal. His voice 
w T as soft and caressing. He pointed out to 
the lady how important it was that she should 
be quite sure in a matter which meant so much 
to the young lady before her. He showed, 
indeed, that it was a matter of so much 
importance to himself, that the lady, who was 




obviously flattered by the attentions he paid 
her, began to feel that she would rather swear 
to anything than annoy so pleasant a gentle- 
man. She admitted at last that she was not 
absolutely sure that this was the girl who 
took the purse ; she might have been mis- 
taken. She retired with a glance overflowing 
with admiration at her interlocutor, and for 
ever afterwards maintained that Mr. Mark 
Nugent, some time later a K.C., was the most 
charming man she had ever known. 

The two assistants, whose evidence was 
of most importance, maintained that they 
never lost sight of the prisoner, although she 
was arrested in the next department. They 
were not so easy to handle as the lady who 
owned the purse. Nevertheless, Mark Nugent 
managed to get one of them to admit that he 
might have lost sight of her. 

But though he was forced at last to admit 
that he must have done so, he still main- 
tained that he saw her take the purse, and 
had recognized her in the next room just as 
she was laid hold of by the other man. The 
following witness was more deadly. There 
did seem some possibility, from his position 
in the first room, that he had not lost sight 
of the girl until he laid his hand on her. 
Upon the whole things looked bad. 

Just as this witness was done with a letter 
was brought in and handed to the magistrate, 
who lifted his hand, saying, " One moment, 
Mr. Nugent, if you please." 

He looked at the letter, which was marked 
" Urgent," and was in the very large enve- 
lope which Miss Hopkins had addressed under 
the direction of Mr. Smith. It was obvious 
to everybody in court that this envelope 
contained two enclosures. The magistrate 
read the letter and seemed amused. What- 
ever view he was going to take of it, it was 
obvious that the contents of the epistle 
appealed to his sense of humour. Never- 
theless he restrained it even when he 
read the inscription on the back of the 

In the meantime Nugent still stood up, as 
if he were waiting courteously for the magis- 
trate's permission to say something for the 
prisoner. He was not, however, surprised 
that for the moment he got ho chance to 
speak, because Mr. Chisholm, acting as Smith 
had expected, said, gravely : — 

" I have received a letter bearing on this 
case, Mr. Fortescue, and, though it is not 
evidence, I think you and Mr. Nugent ought 
to see it. I will hand it down to you." 

It was given by one of the attendants to 
Mr. Fortescue, who read it, and did not seem 

quite happy, in spite of the fact that accord- 
ing to the English law such a confession was 
not evidence. After reading it he handed it 
to Nugent, who went through it with the 
greatest interest. Nugent could not suppress 
a smile when he finished it and handed it to 
Mr. Smith, who read it with portentous 
gravity. On the whole the solicitor was much 
pleased with the result of his dictation and 
the characteristic inscription on the photo- 
graph. He and Nugent and Mr. Fortescue 
put their heads together. 

" Well, what about it ? " asked Fortescue. 
shrugging his shoulders. 

" We shall see," said Nugent. 

" Besides," said Mr. Smith, who had been 
listening, " do you think it would be a good 
advertisement for your clients to appear 
vindictive in a case like this ? " 

" Maybe not," said Fortescue, " but I pro- 
pose to go on." 

" Very well," said Nugent. And, rising, 
he said to the magistrate, " I will ask you to 
allow the witnesses to be recalled, as I have 
further questions which I think ought to be 
put to them, and which I was not in a position 
to put to them before." He held the photo- 
graph in his hand, and the magistrate 
thoroughly understood what he meant. 

" Certainly, Mr. Nugent," he replied. 

The lady who had lost the purse again 
entered the witness-box. She smiled pleas- 
antly at Mark Nugent, as if glad to have a 
little more conversation with him, and Nugent 
smiled once more as if he were glad to take 
another look at his beautiful ideal. Then, 
handing her the photograph, he asked : 
" Would you please to look at this photo- 
graph ? " 

She did so. 

" Now tell me whose it is." 

" It is a photograph of the prisoner," said 
the lady. 

" That will do," said Nugent. 

Mr. Jones, the first assistant, was also 
recalled. He, too, affirmed that the photo- 
graph was that of the person in custody. 
The other assistant was at first a little 
uncertain, but finally decided that it was a 
photograph of the .prisoner. 

As Fortescue did not attempt to re-examine 
any of his witnesses, this was the end of his 
case, and the magistrate then gave the 
prisoner the usual caution. Nugent rose to 
open his defence. The first witness he called 
was Inspector Harrison. He handed him the 
photograph and asked, " Is that a portrait 
of the prisoner ? " 

" No, sir, it is not," replied the inspector. 




" Do you know whose photograph it is ? " 
asked Nugent. 

" I do," said the inspector. 

" Can you tell me anything about her ? " 
continued Nugent. 

" She is a well-known shoplifter/' replied 
the inspector. 

" That will do/' said Nugent, with a smile. 

In the meantime, as soon as the letter had 
been read, Mr. Smith had left the court and 
had telephoned to Scotland Yard, as he had 
arranged, for Raydon, the detective. Raydon 
came up to the court in a taxi-cab, and entered 
just as Inspector Harrison left the box. 

Raydon was handed the photograph, which 
he promptly declared to be the photograph 
of a notoriously successful shoplifter, who had 
had a long career for so young a woman, 
although she had only been twice convicted. 
He also swore that the handwriting on the 
back of the photograph was that of the same 
young person. 

Here Mr. Chisholm intervened. " I should 
like to hear how the detective knows this 
particular handwriting ? " he asked. 

" I knew the young person in question 
before she took to this line of business, sir," 
said Raydon. 

Mr. Fortescue said he had no questions to 
ask. Then Nugent turned to the magistrate 
and said : "I submit, sir, that the evidence 
as to identity is utterly unreliable, and I ask 
you to discharge the prisoner." 

Whatever Mr. Chisholm thought of his not 
putting Nina Stewart in the box, he said 
nothing. Certainly there was little to be 
gained by it, and the girl looked hardly fit for 
such an ordeal. After a moment's thought 
he said : "I have carefully considered the 
evidence in this case, and have come to the 
conclusion, Mr. Fortescue, that you have not 
succeeded in proving identity. I think that 
in these circumstances no jury would 
convict. The prisoner is discharged." 

As Nina Stewart left the box Nugent said 
hurriedly to Smith, " Go to her and look after 
her. I want to speak to Mr. Chisholm." 

It was quite obvious that the magistrate 
desired to speak to him. Indeed, he leant 
over his desk and beckoned to him. When 
Nugent went up to him he said, " By the way, 
Mr. Nugent, do you know anything of the 
girl you have been defending ? " 

" Nothing," said Nugent, "except that she is 
obviously a lady. But everything I have heard 
about her and her mother seems quite right." 

" Do you know, she reminds me very much 
of a Mrs. Stewart I used to know years ago 
when I was living down in your old neigh- 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

bourhood, Mr. Nugent ? Why, surely you 
knew the Stewarts yourself ? " 

" I don't think I remember," said Nugent; 
" and yet somehow I rather fancy I did know 
somebody called Stewart." 

" Well, I don't suppose it could be the 
same," said Mr. Chisholm. " I don't see 
how it could be. After all, they were not 
very poor, although they certainly were not 
rich so far as I remember. If you hear any- 
thing more about her, or find out anything, 
I wish you'd let me know." 

" I will, with great pleasure," said Nugent. 

When he got outside the court he found 
Mr. Smith standing by the side of a taxi-cab 
into which he had put the girl. Nugent went 
up to the cab. Nina Stewart, though tearless, 
seemed unable to speak, but she shook hands 
with him. 

It had been his intention to ask the solicitor 
to see her home, but when he saw her close at 
hand her appeal to him was so strong that he 
changed his mind. And yet it was not wholly 
his admiration for her — though that was 
strong, seeing that she was really beautiful — 
it was greatly curiosity, after what Mr. 
Chisholm had said to him. Her insistence on 
having him as her counsel seemed capable of 
only one explanation — the explanation that 
Chisholm offered, without knowing that he 
was doing so. 

After he had congratulated her he turned 
to Smith. " I was going to ask you to 
accompany Miss Stewart to Brixton," he 
said, " but I find I have the time to spare, so 
if she will permit me I will take her myself. 
I have something to say to her." 

So Smith again shook hands with his 
little client and she thanked him once more ; 
and then Nugent got into the cab and told 
the man to drive to Brixton. 

" I wish I could thank you," said the girl, 
after a little pause ; " but I don't know what 
to say." 

" Above everything, don't cry," said 
Nugent, with a smile. He felt that if she 
did he would be obliged to console her, and 
such consolation might be dangerous. 

" I — I won't," said Nina. Nevertheless, 
she wiped her eyes. " You have been very 
good to me." 

" Nonsense," said Nugent; "the man that 
did all the work was your friend Smith. But 
that's not what I wanted to talk to you about 
— I want to know how it was you asked him 
to get me to defend you." 

" I — I knew your name," she said. 

Although Nugent could be very subtle in 
examination or cross-examination he was 




curiously direct in ordinary life. Instead of 
sitting by her he now changed his seat and 
sat right opposite her, and said, " Miss 
Stewart, do you mind looking at me straight?" 

With some surprise she did so. 

" You don't know why I asked that," said 
Nugent, " but I think, somehow, that you 
know more than my name. Have we ever 
met before, many, many years ago ? " 

She could not speak, but nodded. 

" Ah," said Nugent, " I thought so." 

Nevertheless, his memory was much at 
fault. There was a deep impression in him 
somewhere ; if he could only get the clue he 
might draw it out. 

" Did you and your mother ever live near 
Gloucester ? " he asked. 

And again she nodded, and this time she 

" Ah," said Nugent, " I spoke to Mr. 
Chisholm after you had left the court, and he 
said as much as that himself. You know, he, 
too, comes from the same neighbourhood." 

" I didn't know that," said Nina. 

" I think he knew your mother," said 
Nugent. And still he struggled to remember 
the mother of this strange child. 

" I will tell you," said Nina. 

But he lifted his hand. 

" Stop one minute," he said. " I should 
like to remember without help. I believe 
it's coming back to me." 

There was some scene in his mind like an 
undeveloped photograph ; but now it was 
like a photographic plate in the developing 
medium. He began to see shadows and 
lights. And suddenly he spoke. 

" There was a cottage not far from my 
father's house," he said. " I don't remember 
its name, but some people lived there — I 
wonder if they were called Stewart ? And 
they had a little girl. She was something 
like you, Miss Stewart, though then she could 
not have been twelve. Indeed, she may 
have been much younger than that. But 
she came one day to our house — oh, yes, I 
remember — and I was a boy, a young man, 
if you will, of twenty, or, perhaps, nineteen, 
very hard and full of himself. But the 
little girl liked him. I wonder if I am 
right ? " 

" Yes," said Nina. 

" She thought him a nice boy," said 
Nugent, smiling. " I remember she told my 
mother he was a nice boy." 

" I remember, too," said Nina. 

" Was there nothing else ? " he asked. 
" Did you say nothing else to her ? " 

" I don't remember," said the girl. 

Digitized by V^OOgle 

" Ah, I remember," said Nugent, smiling. 
" I remember now very well. It's strange 
how these things come back to one. She 
sat with me a long time in the library, and 
talked to me about her pets, and the garden. 
I remember everything. Yes — her name was 
Nina Stewart. She followed me about the 
whole afternoon, and made me show her the 
horses, and the dogs, and the fowls. Well, 
I suppose I behaved all right, because she 
told my mother I was a nice boy, and 
said " 

" What did I say ? " asked Nina. 

" I wonder whether I can tell you ? " said 

" Please do," said the girl. 

" She said, ' Oh, Mrs. Nugent, I think your 
son Mark is a very nice boy, and if I ever 
marry I think I'll marry him.' " 

He knew he was playing with fire, but he 
had never seen anyone who affected him so 
much, in spite of everything. His own 
restraint with regard to women had been 
largely founded on a certain reaction within 
him against the dominant and predominant 
type of the young woman of the day. He 
found them mostly hard and self-sufficient. 
Whatever her weaknesses this was a sweet 
and dear child, kindly, affectionate, and most 
divinely and strangely beautiful. Again 
he looked at her, and saw the tears in 
her eyes. 

" Oh, Mr. Nugent," she said, " you see, I 
was a very little girl then, and did not 

" And now you understand very much," 
said Nugent. " You know, at any rate, that 
it is a very hard world. Tell me how you 
came to be so poor." 

And she told him how it was. Her father, 
it seemed, had never been rich, though he 
had sufficient. He was not a man of the 
world, and had got into the hands of a 
gambler and speculator, who had led him 
into gambling. When things came to a final 
crash her father died, and left her and her 
mother with so little that it was not sufficient 
to live on. They had no relatives, or none 
who could help. They came to London and 
lived in ever-increasing poverty, because her 
mother needed what she could not get 
without sacrifice of the very little capital 
that remained to them. 

" And my mother is ill," said Nina, now 
without tears ; " very ill. I don't think she 
will live long — and I can't give her what she 
should have." 

" Perhaps you will let me help you if it is 
possible," said Mark Nugent. 




She looked at him trustfully and smiled 

" I always was a very nice boy," said Mark. 
" Don't forget that. May I come and see 
you and your mother to-morrow ? " 

" If you don't mind seeing us as we ate, I 
should be glad if you would come, Mr. 
Nugent," said the girl. " You've been very, 
very kind to me." 

And then she did break down, and Mark, 
with more self-restraint than even he thought 
he possessed, only took her by the hands and 
said, " Don't, little girl, don't. It's all right- 
it's all right. You've got some friends now." 

And then they came to her road and her 
house, and he got out with her and took her 
to the door. And on the step he said, " I'll 
come and see you to-morrow afternoon. 
Don't forget — at four o'clock." 

She looked at him through her tears and 
nodded, but could not speak. He turned 
round sharply and, entering the cab, drove 
back to the Temple. 

Deep in his heart he knew he must do 
something for her, and for her mother. He 
might call her a child and see her as a child, 
but she was none now. She called to him 
and clung to him. And still the man of clear- 
cut ambitions resented her appeal. A man 
of strong individuality, he had always resented 
the notion of necessity, of fate, of destiny ; 
yet here he saw necessity and fate at work. 

Before it grew dark he took a cab and went 
up to Oxford Street, and there bought a 
carbon reproduction of the Mother and Child, 
the part of the Madonna di San Sisto which is 
usually reproduced. He took it back to his 
chambers and examined it closely, with care. 
There was something very strange about it. 
Most certainly the woman was wonderfully 
like Nina, though there was both more and 
less in the girl's face than in the Madonna's, 

He laid the picture on the tabic and pre- 
sently covered the child in the Virgin's arms. 
It seemed to him that there was instantly a 
strange alteration in the Madonna's face. 
She no longer looked a woman, but a child. 
With the infant in her arms she might be 
twenty, or even older. Without it, she seemed 
but sixteen — young and very innocent. He 
removed his hand, and again saw the child 
there. The Virgin was the mother, and not 
so youthful, though perhaps more beautiful. 
Some day — some day, such a change might 
come to Nina Stewart. 

That night when he slept he dreamed of 
her, not as she was, but as she had been in the 
old days ; and yet in this passing dream she 


Vol xlvi - 

was not a child, or rather she was the same 
childlike creature as the Madonna, a virgin 
in her garden before love came to her. He 
woke up in the morning tired and unre- 
freshed, and with a sense of painful solitude 
about him. 

He worked that morning in the courts and 
did his work well, and yet all the time he was 
in a dream. In the afternoon he had to go 
to Brixton, and he waited anxiously for the 
time to pass. And still he felt that it was 
folly for him to go — and yet it was sweet folly 
and natural, for he knew he loved her. 

With these thoughts in his mind he went 
down to Brixton, knowing what had happened, 
and yet fearing — as every lover will — that 
in spite of the way she looked at him, in spite 
of the lon£ years she had remembered him, 
there might be someone else in her heart. 

She had been waiting for him, trembling. 
Though she looked a child, she was no child, 
but had the heart of a woman, and perhaps 
she understood. He came up to her with 
strange abruptness and held out his hands. 

" Nina — I want to marry you." 

She looked at him as if she did not under- 
stand the words he spoke, and then she went 
as pale as death. 

" Oh, you can't mean it," she said. 

" I do mean it," he cried. " Child, I want 
you to come to me — I want to marry you." 

But she trembled, and cried out, " I 
couldn't — I couldn't ! Don't you under- 
stand ? " 

" Understand what ? " asked Mark. " I 
know what I know — that I love you." 

But still she said she could not do it, and 
was greatly and strangely agitated. 

" Of course, you don't love me," said 
Nugent. " How can you ? " 

" You have been so good to me," she said. 
" That's not the reason. If you knew — you 
wouldn't ask me." 

" If I knew what ? " he cried. 

" If you knew the truth," she said. 

" What truth ? " 

But for a moment she could not speak, and 
then she turned to him with a strange, 
pathetic dignity. 

" Do you not know ? " 

" Do I not know what ? " he asked, obsti- 

" Know that I — I stole that purse for my 
mother's sake," said Nina. 

And Mark Nugent laughed strangely, and 
put out his hands and took her by the shoul- 
ders and said, " Why, of course I know — of 
course I kn Wi t g 'j' na | frorn 





A bymptmum of Amusing Musical Incidents^ Contributed by Bandmasters 

ana Others. 


Bandm&tter of ihe Coldstream Guards and Senior 
Bandmaster Brigade of Guards, 

T the moment of writing this 
my attention is partly centred 
upon the Royal Naval and 
Military Tournament, so I 
may be forgiven if I commence 
by recalling an incident con- 
nected with a Tournament of 
some years ago ; when it was held at the 
Agricultural Hall. Military tattoos have 
always been a very popular feature (" We are 
sure of a packed house," Colonel Ricardo once 
said to me, £( when you have one of your 
tattoos with the massed bands ,J ), and on the 
occasion in question I had trained and 
rehearsed about four hundred soldiers from 
the various regiments in the Brigade of 
Guards to act as torch-bearers and to make 
the necessary complicated evolutions in the 
darkened arena* As luck would have it ? two 
guards of honour were required that night, 
one for the King and the other for a dis- 
tinguished foreign visitor who was arriving in 

London, AH my trained men were ordered 
for duty at short notice, and I was obliged to 
ask the Naval commander for two hundred 
men of the Royal Naval contingent to take 
their places. There was no time to rehearse 
them. All I could do was to call their petty 
officers into the arena just before the show, 
explain what they had to do as best I could, 
and warn *hem that if they got into any diffi- 
culty they were to stand fast } wait for a change 
of tune, and look to me for some signal. 

Those who have witnessed a tattoo in the 
comparatively small space available on these 
occasions can hardly fail to have been im- 
pressed by the orderly way the men manoeuvre 
in the arena. The late King Edward sent for 
me to the Royal box after a tattoo on one 
occasion, " Mr. Regan," said His Majesty, 
u I see how you get your men in, but what I 
wonder at is how you ever get them all out 
again ! M And indeed it is a complicated 
matter for such a closely-packed mass of men 
to unwind themselves, and even a slight mis- 
take on the part of the leaders may put every - 
thing out-Original from 




AH went well till the time came for the 
sailors to leave the arena. This was the 
critical moment, and to my horror every- 
thing went wrong. The outside files took a 
wrong turn, and immediately everybody was 
at sixes and sevens* I changed the tune and 
made frantic motions — which in the semi- 
darkness only made confusion doubly con- 
founded—and I was at my wits* end what to 
do when one of their petty officers who was 
standing by me said : " Let 'em be, sir ; 
they'll get out somehow, you'll see." 

They did. I do not know to this day how 
they did it. Evidently Jack is not called the 
handy-man for nothing* Some got out at 
one exit and some at another, it is true, but 
at any rate they got out, and I do not think 
the audience ever guessed what a fiasco hud 
been so narrowly avoided, for the applause 
was quite as warm as usual and no remarks 
were ever made so far as I know. 

A still more amusing tattoo experience 
occurred at a file a few years ago. This was 
held in a natural arena surrounded by hills. 
The tattoo took place after dark, of course, and 
it was arranged that the torch-bearers should 
wait behind the hills, out of sight, and, at a 
given signal, enter the valley in single files 
from four different directions — like four 
serpents of fire, which were to wend in and 
out of each other until they were massed in 
the centre. 

There were present eight pipers* These 
played their bagpipes, and their tuning-up 
was the signal for the torch-bearers to march. 
Wei], the pipers commenced to blow lustily, 

and almost at once the heads of the foui 
columns appeared over the hills. But instead 
of wending across the valley and then back 
to the centre a? directed, each column 
marched straight ahead and vanished behind 
the opposite hill. 

Minute after minute went by. The three 
or four tunes which the pipers had rehearsed 
were played out and played again, and soon 
the pipers were " played out " themselves ! 
First one dropped out and then another. At 
the end of twenty minutes they were taking 
it in turns, one or two blowing while the others 
rested, but ten minutes later they were all 
so utterly winded that only one poor fellow 
could keep going at all, and I was obliged to 
call upon the bands to relieve them, soon 
after which the torch- bearers appeared again 
and the necessary evolutions were completed* 

Needless to say, I was very much annoyed at 
what had occurred, and I asked the official in 
command of the torch- bearers what on earth 
had happened. He explained that at the last 
moment it had struck him that to merely do 
as he had been directed would have taken too 
short a time, so he had told the men to march 
across the valley and right round the hills, 
Thus they had gone for a route march on their 
own account, blissfully oblivious of the fact 
that they were quite out of sight ! I need 
hardly add that, being annoyed at the time, 
I said a few strong words about obeying 
instructions, etc. 

One last story of a more personal nature. 
At Olvmpiu one day I was accosted by a 



for him on some special occasion a year or two 
earlier, but who had had another band for 
the same purpose subsequently. I had not 
since seen him to speak to, and was a little 
surprised when he came rushing up to me and 
shook me effusively by the hand. 

" Ah ! " said he, " very glad to see you. 
No mistake, your band is magnificent ! I 
shall certainly engage you again next year 
for my affair if you are free. By the way, 
have you seen Mackenzie Rogan lately ? " 

I stared at him in surprise. I knew quite 
well what the other band was which he had 
had. The bandmaster was not the least like 
me, but I saw at once that he was somehow 
confusing us. 

" Rogan ? " I repeated. " Oh, yes, I've 
seen him. In fact, I often see him. Every 
day. I know him quite well." 

" Oh, do you?" said he. "Now, look 
here ; I don't want you to say anything to 
him, as I have a personal regard for him, 
but you know the band isn't as popular as 
yours. I shaVt have him again ; I mean to 
have you next time. Still, my kind regards 
to Rogan when you see him. Good-bye ! " 

I could not resist the temptation ! Next 
morning I sent him a postcard. " I saw 
Rogan early this morning," I wrote ; " he was 
shaving ! He thanks you for your kind 
regards, which he heartily reciprocates ! " 

Whether he discovered his mistake I do 
not know. I have not seen him since, and 
the band is still waiting for that engagement. 


Founder, Organizer, and Conductor of the Great 
Annual Band Contest at the Crystal Palace. 

I shall not readily forget many of the 
experiences which we encountered when I 
took the Besses o y th' Barn on its tour of the 
world a few years back. It is very curious 
how literally the title of a band is sometimes 
taken by members of the public. In France, 
where anything to do with the ladies may be 
expected to tickle the fancy of Frenchmen, 
it was really good fun to see the pleasant 
grin on the faces of those present, and to 
hear them shout " Vive VAngleterre ! Vive 
les Bessees/" When one saw the change on 
so many countenances upon the appearance 
of the band on the platform, one realized 
that many of those present had come expecting 
to see and hear an organization of women ! 

Even in England, the idea that the 
" Besses " were girls was once quite pre- 
valent. On one occasion a man, in a sfeate 
of indecision, was standing outside the hall 
where they were giving a concert, when the 

band suddenly struck up. Some of the 
chords which reached him were so inspiriting 
that he at once put his hand in his pocket 
and made for the entrance. 

" By gum," says he, " if a bunch of girls 
can play like that, they must be worth 
looking at. Here goes for a bob's worth ! " 

It is told, also, of a certain American that, 
on being invited to go to a concert given by 
the " Black Dike " Band, he said :— 

" Wall, I guess that's going some ! Hafe 
a dollar to hear a crowd o' niggers ! " 

He went, however, after explanation, and 
didn't he shout when " Dike " struck up 

This story reminds me of an American 
impression, which may be interesting. Their 
fondness for bands, both good and bad, is 
well known. The quality isn't taken into 
account when either the " Star-Spangled 
Banner," " Yankee Doodle," or " Dixie " is 
played. I have never seen in any country 
such frenzy and enthusiasm so universally 
shown on the playing of national airs as in 
the United States. 

When they went to Windsor Castle, in 
connection with the celebrations of the 
present Prince of Wales's tenth birthday, 
the " Besses " tell, with much gusto, how, 
during the interval, the Prince slipped in 
amongst their instruments and gave the big 
drum a good smack, and then took to his 
heels. Although I was near by, I did not 
actually see the incident, but, nevertheless, I 
believe it actually occurred, and, by the way, 
isn't it just what a real English boy would 
do if he got the chance ? 


Bandmaster of the Irish Guards. 

Two or three years ago we were engaged 
to play on the occasion of some athletic 
sports at a public school near London, the 
grounds of which overlooked a high road 
close to a cemetery. 

It was a glorious day, a hot Saturday 
afternoon. The sun shone, and everyone 
was in the highest spirits, but there was one 
thorn in what was otherwise a bed of roses. 

That afternoon seemed to have been 
selected for an extraordinary number of 
funerals ! 

To suit the occasion we naturally played a 
light class of music, the programme including, 
for instance, a selection of the popular airs of 
the day, and I had the greatest difficulty in 
timing our performance so as not to clash 
with the mournful processions that kept 
passing, Again and again, just as we were 



about to launch out into the " Merry Widow ," 
or something as embarrassingly appropriate ; 
I would spy another hearse turning the 
corner, and would have to hurriedly change 
the tune or wait until the mourners were 
safely out of earshot. 

It was a little disconcerting and distinctly 
trying, but I managed things all right, I 
thought , and congratulated myself upon 
having come through a difficult situation 
with flying colours. 

But, alas, my self-satisfaction was short- 
lived ! Three days 
later I received a letter 
from an indignant 
widow complaining 
that, of all tunes, the 
hand had played " Put 
me among the Girls " 
while her dear hus- 
band's funeral was 
passing the grounds 1 



Bandmasier of the Royal 
Horse Guards, 

That a person could 
sit in an orchestra for 
two days without 
blowing a note may 
seem incredible, but it 
really happened, 

A youth was induced to deputize with the 
French horn (which was not his regular instru- 
ment) at the old Imperial Theatre, which 
used to adjoin the now defunct Aquarium. 
He was so nervous that he did not blow a 
note until the third day, when he tried his 
prowess on the following passage : — 




He attempted the lower notes^ but, unfortu- 
nately, had the wrong crook on ! The result 
was disastrous. 

The conductor said so many unkind things 
that when the curtain descended the unlucky 
offender dropped his instrument, rushed into 
the band-room, seized his hat, and bolted for 
Charing Cross. 

The youth was myself I 

Examples of mistaken criticism are not 
rare, and I could mention many. Once our 
band was criticized in the Press for its playing 
of some of Dvorak's dances, when they had 
been cut and something else played instead. 

I made inquiries and found the critic was a 
lady — so I said no more about it ! 

On another occasion when on tour with 
the band we gave a Sunday concert, and the 
Council insisted upon the programme being of 
a sacred character. The u Hallelujah Chorus " 
was one of the items, but before the concert 
I was asked to substitute the " Dance of the 
Imps " from the Peer Gynt Suite , which I 
did, in place of the chorus, Afterwards a 
member o£ the committee, commenting to 
me on the concert, said he thought the 

" Hallelujah Chorus " 
was grand ! 

All these incidents 
are true. I will end 
with one for the truth 
of which I cannot 
vouchj although I 
think it quite likely. 

An opera company 
had augmented their 
orchestra while on 
tour, and among the 
additions were two 
trombone players. 
Looking over their 
parts before rehearsal, 
one said to the other : 
44 I say, Bill, look 
here ! This is in six 
sharps ! How are we 
to do this ? " 
" That's all right," replied Bill ; " you can 
take three and 1*11 take t'others-" 

Lieutenant B. S. GREEN, 

Bandmaster of the Royal Marine Artillery. Eastney. 

The Colonel of a certain regiment sent for 
the bandmaster one day and complained very 
bitterly of the band, which he described hotly 
as a M disgrace to the regiment, sir." 

Naturally the bandmaster, who was very 
proud of his band, was most indignant, and 
demanded to know what was the complaint 
about it. 

" Why j sir/' said the irascible Colonel, " the 
men who march in the front rank and play 
those instruments they push in and out" — 
meaning the trombones — " cannot keep time, 
sir ! They never by any chance push in and 
out together. TU have it changed, let me 
tell you." 

It' was no good the bandmaster explaining 
that each man played a different note and 
that each note was formed with the slide in a 
different position. The Colonel still persisted 
that the effect was not uniform, and vowed 
that IJWIwEfeMTli^ir^^laiJil to be drilled 



until such time as they could push in and out 
together ! 

I remember an occasion when the Colonel 
of a cavalry raiment T while on the line of 
march , complained to the bandmaster that 
the kettledrums sounded like 1( old cracked 
pols/' and told him to find out what was the 
matter with them. 

Unable to deny the truth of this, and 
anxious to discover what was amiss, the 
bandmaster summoned the drummer when 
they arrived in camp, and told him to remove 
the drumheads. The drums were full of all 
sorts of odds and ends ! Anxious to carry 
their kit as conveniently as possible, the men 
had literally " packed " the drums ! 


weH-knivvn arH popular Conductor of the 
Bournemouth Municipal Orchestra. 

I remember so many amusing little incidents 

Typical of the popular taste in music, I 
may mention an occasion when our orchestra 
was playing on the pier, A movement from 
Beethoven's t£ Pastoral Symphony n was 
down on the programme, but, owing to the 
popular nature of the audience, I left this 
out and substituted " The Gondoliers ?J of 

The experiment was evidently satisfactory. 
Four people came up to me afterwards and 
said how much they had enjoyed the concert 
— " especially the piece by Beethoven ! TT 

So much for some of the public and music. 
Now for the musicians ! Only a short time 
ago Dr. Markham Lee T M.A., lectured at the 
Winter Gardens on the subject of the great 
composer, " Dvorak/' and in the course of 



that have occurred at Bournemouth, that I 
find it somewhat difficult to recall, on the 
spur of the moment, just those which would 
be most likely to interest readers of The 
Stkand Magazine. 

his remarks mentioned that Dvorak's father 
had kept a public-house. 

There was at once a great shuffling of feet 
among the members of the orchestra, which 
Dr.LMfr'Eft&ff TliSf y^DHigl^ff'Jremarked upon. 



A little later 
he told us that 
when Dvordk 
left school his 
father took him 
into the busi- 
nessj thinking 
there was a 
better living to 
be made out of 
beer than out 
of music. 

At this point 
the applause 
from the 
musicians was 
most pro- 
nounced 3 show- 
ing conclusively 
that they agreed 
with Dvor&k, 
senior, as to the 
sort of " bars " 
out of which 
most money 
was to be 
made ! 

Perhaps the 
most curious 
and at the same 
time amusing 
incident that I can recall at the moment is of 
an occasion when, during a concert, I wielded 
my baton with so much gusto that it slipped 

"the drums were full of all sorts of odds and en l>s. 

the air, he 
caught it grace- 
fully, without 
so much as 
turning a hair, 
and, coming up 
to the platform, 
quietly handed 
it back to me in 
the most matter- 
of-fact manner, 
and without the 
slightest inter- 
ruption of the 

Two other in- 
cidents may be 
amusing. The 
first relates to 
a conversation 
overheard in the 
Bournem o u t h 
Winter Gardens 
twenty years 

** Oh, what a 
pity you are 
late,'* said a 
lady to a friend 
who had just 
arrived. " You 

have just missed those delightful German 

Dances by 


MY HANli. 1 * 

out of my 
hand and went 
flying through 
the air over 
the heads of 
the audience. 
I expected 
and dreaded 
that it would 
hit some un- 
suspecting person in the eye, and foresaw, 
without doubt, at least a termination to 
the selection upon which we were engaged. 
Not a bit of it ! An attendant who was 
stationed in the centre aisle saw it coming. 
As though it were the most natural thing 
in the world to see batons flying through 

Henry the 
Eighth ! " — 
meaning j of 
course, the 
of our popu- 
lar British 
Edward Ger- 

The other 
is as f o 1- 
1ow t s : — 

At one of 
our s v m- 


phony con- gsachfully." 




certs at which a symphony by Brahms was 
being played, a lady — not one of our regular 
supporters — went up to one of the attend- 
ants and said : — 

"Is not Mr. Brahms conducting this 
afternoon ? " 

" No, madam/' replied the attendant; 
" he is not here this afternoon." 

" Oh," she said, " how very disappointing ! 
I came specially to see him ! " 

" I am sorry, madam," further replied the 
attendant, quite gravely. " I am afraid Mr. 
Brahms is a very long way off." 

Brahms, of course, died in 1897. 


Bandmaster of Irweli Springs Band, which won the 

1 000 - Guinea Trophy at the Crystal Palace in 

1905. 1908. and 1910. 

One of the most remarkable incidents I 
remember occurred some years ago in the 
local theatre of a Lancashire town where we 
were giving two sacred concerts one afternoon 
and evening. 

During the evening performance, just as 
we were in the middle of a selection from 
Balfe's works, the electric light throughout 
the theatre suddenly failed, plunging platform 
and auditorium into complete darkness. 

In many cases such an occurrence would 
prove disastrous to a musical performance, 
and for the moment I was utterly nonplussed, 
for conducting was, of course, quite out of 
the question. Fortunately the band knew 
the music by heart. The selection went on, 
therefore, without any pause, and, expecting 
each instant to see the lights reappear, I let 
them play on. But when, after a few 
minutes, the lights did not come on again, I 
began to think discretion would be the better 
part of valour, so, to avoid any fear of a 
breakdown, I allowed the band to finish the 
movement, and then shouted out directions 
to stop it and play a hymn instead. 

We at once struck up " Lead, Kindly 
Light," and, the whole of the vast audience 
joining in, I cannot describe the strange 
grandeur of the beautiful hymn as verse after 
verse went pealing through the darkened 
building, the effect being heightened, perhaps, 
when one of the attendants, having secured 
and lighted a solitary candle, stepped on to 
the platform and held it aloft until the hymn 
was almost concluded, when the lights came 
on again as suddenly as they had gone off. 

I can assure you that while it lasted the 
effect was weird and funereal in the extreme, 
and I have never forgotten the good-natured 
tolerance of the large audience. 

Many were the good-humoured comments 
afterwards levelled at us about the appearance 
of the candle at so appropriate a moment ! 


Secretary of Wingate's Temperance Band, Lanes. 

holders of the World's Amateur Bra<s Band 

Champion hips, 1906 and 1907. 

If I begin with a story you have heard or 
read before you must forgive me. My excuse 
is a good one : it is true. 

Some years ago, about 1902, I think, we 
were playing at a garden-party given by a 
very well-known personage. During the per- 
formance of one of the items the soprano 
soloist played a top note which sounded very 
much out of place, and at the end of the piece 
the man next him asked what note he got — 
adding that whatever it was it was a wrong 

" Well," said the soloist, who was some- 
what annoyed, " if you want to know, it was 
a top B and it was in my copy, and if you 
don't believe me look for yourself. There 
it is ! " 

And with that he went to lay his finger 
upon the note, which promptly flew away. 

It was a fly ! 

About ten years ago we had an engagement 
to play at a music-hall. The night before 
the engagement one of our two BB bass 
players fell ill suddenly and could not go. 
The next morning the other player missed 
his train, and we accordingly arrived at our 
destination minus any bass player at all ! Of 
course, we could not go on like that, and 
being unable to find a substitute we borrowed 
a bass instrument from the local band and 
told our librarian that he must come on the 
stage and act as a dummy, putting the 
instrument to his lips and moving his fingers 
as though he were playing. 

The instrument having been carefully 
stopped up so as to avoid all danger of acci- 
dents — or accidentals ! — he duly appeared, 
and all went well until a piece was reached 
in the course of which the bass players' music 
showed several bars of shakes, every fourth 
bar being a silent one for the whole band. 

This proved our dummy's downfall. To 
the amusement of the band — whose eyes 
were upon him, as you may depend — and 
of those members of the audience who were 
in a position to see what happened, it was 
observed that in the silent bars this man 
was blowing and shaking his fingers until he 
was red in the face, without making a sound ! 

One little story to conclude. 

Many years ago we attended a contest in 




the Lancashire district in which only five 
hands took part, all told. 

After we had all five played, the judge 
stepped on to the platform and, having stated 
that he had already decided upon the first 
and second prize winners, requested bands 
No*, i, 3, and 4 to play again, to enable him 
to place them. 

We were No. 5 , and 
while the three bands 
were playing off we 
spent the time shak- 
ing hands with hand 
No. 2 and wondering 
which of us was first 
and which second. 

Imagine our aston- 
ishment when the 
judge again mounted 
the platform and an- 
nounced that he 
awarded the first, 
second, and third 
prizes to the bands that 
had just played again, 
giving us fourth place 
and No. 2 band fifth ! 

These stories are quite true. The soloist 
in No. 1 and the dummy in No, 2 both lost 
their lives in the deplorable colliery disaster 
here in West Houghton in 1910. 

Mr. E, R- FODEN, 

Secretary of Fo den's Motor Works Bind, which has 
won prizes at every contest attended since 1908, 
including the Belle Vue Championship three times out 
of four, in 1909- 10-11. and the Crystal Palace 
Championship and 1 ,000 Guinea Trophy. 

There are a number of amusing incidents 
connected with our band, but in the first 
place it is difficult to recall them all just when 
you want to make a selection of the best, and 
in the second, although an incident may be 
very amusing at the time, it is difficult to put 
down in black and white just what the actions 
conveyed to the mind. 

Though we are a Cheshire band, our work- 
shops are recruited, of course, from all parts 
of the country, and our bandsmen t accord- 
ingly, are men from many different counties. 

Among them are two Birmingham men, 
who are great friends, and who, when the 
band is away on engagements, almost invari- 
ably occupy the same room and sleep together. 

The men of the band are a good-natured, 
light-hearted lot, and these " away " engage- 
ments are thoroughly enjoyed, a good deal of 
fun being generally got out of them. Now, 
when the band was going to the Isle of Man 
not long ago the men were chaffing on the 


boat and saying that sometimes a man's hair 
turned white the first night on the island. 
They stayed at the Central Hotel, and the 
two Birmingham men, as usual, had arranged 
to sleep together, so the other bandsmen, 
thinking they would have a joke with them, 
sneaked upstairs before they retired for the 

night and dusted the 
pillows of their bed 
thickly with flour, 
which they had got the 
cook to let them have. 
Our two friends 
from Birmingham did 
not retire very early, 
and, having been 
laughing and talking 
with the rest down- 
stairs till a late hour, 
they were very tired 
when they got to their 
room, and, pulling off 
their clothes, tumbled 
quickly into bed with- 
out noticing anything. 
About three o'clock 
in the morning one of 
them had a bad dream, and woke up with 
that curious sensation of foreboding and 
disquietude which often follows a nightmare. 
It was pitch-dark in the room, but, anxious 
to see the time, he got out of hed and, striking 
a match, went to the dressing- table to look at 
his watch. 

Imagine his horror when,, upon catching 
.sight of his reflection in the mirror, be per- 
ceived that his hair was quite white, 

Dropping the match, which burnt his 
fingers, he gave a loud cry that awoke his 
mate and made him sit up in bed. 

" Whart's the matter, whart's the marter ? " 
says he . in his broad Birmingham twang. 

" Oh, Johr, Johr ! n says the other, wring- 
ing his hands j 4S I've gorn grey in a night ! 
I've gorn grey in a night ! " 

** Nornsense ! " says Joe, climbing out of 
bed. M Wre drunk ! I dorn T t believe yer, f1 
" Then look at my hair ! " says Harry , 
striking another match. And there they were, 
the match held like a torch between them, 
each in his nightshirt, standing staring, with 
eyes wide with horror and surprise, at the 
other's whitened head ! 

Meanwhile the boys in the next rooms hat! 
been aroused by their voices, and burst into 
the room just in time to see the picture 

I will leave you to guess the chaffing those 

two men after-wards came in for. 


How it Happened 



UTusir^ied f £y. Cyrus Cuneo 

ii 1 1 1 was a writing medium. 
This is what she wrote: — 

I can remember some things 
upon that evening most dis- 
tinctly, and others are like 
some vague, broken dreams. 
That is what makes it so difficult to tell a 
connected story + I have no idea now what 
it was that had taken me to London and 
brought me back so late. It just merges 
into all my other visits to London. Hut from 
the time that I got out at the little country 
station everything is extraordinarily dean 

I can live it again — every instant of it. 

I remember so well walking down the plat- 
form and looking at the illuminated clock 
at the end which told me that it was half-past 
eleven, 1 remember also my wondering 
whether 1 could get home before midnight. 
Then I remember the big motor, with its 
glaring headlights unci glitter of polished brass, 
waiting for me outside. It was my new 
thirty-horse-power Robur, which had only 
•been delivered that day, I remember also 
asking Perkins, my chauffeur, how she had 
gone, and his saying that be thought she was 

" Til try her myself," said I, and I climbed 
into the driver's seat, 

" The gears are not the same/' said he. 

II Perhaps , sir, I had better drive." 

" No ; I should like to try her/' said I. 

Copyright* iyn, by 


And so we started on the five-mile drive 
for home. 

My old car had the gears as they used always 
to be in notches on a bar. In this car you 
passed the gear-lever through a gate to get 
on the higher ones. It was not difficult to 
master, and soon I thought that I under- 
stood it. It w T as foolish, no doubt, to begin 
to learn a new system in the dark, but one 
often does foolish things, and one has not 
always to pay the full price for them. I got 
along very well until I came to Clay stall Hill. 
It is one of the worst hills in England, a mile 
and a half long and one in six in places, with 
three fairly sharp curves. My park gates 
stand at the very foot of 
London road. 

We were just over the 
where the grade is steepest, when the trouble 
began. 1 had been on the top speed, and 
wanted to get her on the free ; but she 
stuck between gears } and I had to get he r back 
on the top again. By this time she was going 
at a great rate, so I clapped on both brakes, 
and one after the other they gave way. I 
didn't mind so much when I felt my foot- 
brake snap, but when I put all my weight on 
my side-brake ; and the lever clanged to its 
full limit without a catch, it brought a cold 
sweat out of me* By this time we were 
fairly tearing down the slope. The lights were 
brilliant, and I brought her round the first 
curve all right. Then we did the second ane^ 

*e— D^Jfrjgjnalfrorri 


it upon the main 
brow of this hill, 




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though it was a close shave for the ditch. 
There was a mile of straight then with the 
third curve beneath it, and after that the 
gate of the park. If I could shoot into 
that harbour all would be well, for the 
slope up to the house would bring her to 
a stand. 

Perkins behaved splendidly. I should like 
that to be known. He was perfectly cool 
and alert. I had thought at the very 
beginning of taking the bank, and he read 
my intention. 

" I wouldn't do it, sir," said he. " At this 
pace it must go over and we should have it 
on the top of us." 

Of course he was right. He got to the 
electric switch and had it off, so we were in 
the free; but we were still running at a 
fearful pace. He laid his hands on the wheel. 

" I'll keep her steady," said he, " if you 
care to jump and chance it. We can never 
get round that curve. Better jump, sir." 

" No," said I ; " I'll stick it out. You can 
jump if you like." 

" I'll stick it with you, sir," said he. 

If it had been the old car I should have 
jammed the gear-lever into the reverse, and 
seen what would happen. I expect she 
would have stripped her gears or smashed up 
somehow, but it would have been a chance. 
As it was, I was helpless. Perkins tried to 
climb across, but you couldn't do it going at 
that pace. The wheels were whirring like a 
high wind and the big body creaking and 
groaning ^ith the strain. But the lights were 
brilliant, and one could steer to an inch. I 
remember thinking what dpi awful and yet 
majestic sight we should appear to anyone 
who met us. It was a narrow road, and we 
were just a great, roaring, golden death to 
anyone who came in our path. 

We got round the corner with one wheel 
three feet high upon the bank. I thought 
we were surely over, but after staggering for a 
moment she righted and darted onwards. 
That was the third corner and the "last one. 
There was only the park gate now. It was 
facing us, but, as luck would have it, not 
facing us directly. It was about twenty yards 
to the left up the main road into which we 
ran. Perhaps I could have done it, but I 
expect that the steering-gear had been jarred 
when we ran on the bank. The wheel did 
not turn easily. We shot out of the lane. I 
saw the open gate on the left. I whirled 
round my wheel with all the strength of my 
wrists. Perkins and I threw our bodies across, 
and then the next instant, going at fifty miles 
an hour, my right front wheel struck full on 

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the right-hand pillar of my own gate. I 
heard the crash. I was conscious of flying 
through the air, and then — and then ! 

When I became aware of my own existence 
once more I was among some brushwood in 
the shadow of the oaks upon the lodge side 
of the drive. A man was standing beside 
me. I imagined at first that it was Perkins, 
but when I looked again I saw that it was 
Stanley, a man whom I had known at college 
some years before, and for whom I had a really 
genuine affection. There was always some- 
thing peculiarly sympathetic to me in Stanley's 
personality, and I was proud to think that I 
had some similar influence upon him. At the 
present moment I was surprised to see him, 
but I was like a man in a dream, giddy 
and shaken and quite prepared to take 
things as I found them without questioning 

" What a smash ! " I said. " Good Lord, 
what an awful smash ! " 

He nodded his head, and even in the gloom 
I could see that he was smiling the gentle, 
wistful smile which I connected with him. 

I was quite unable to move. Indeed, I 
had not any desire to try to move. But my 
senses were exceedingly alert. I saw the 
wreck of the motor lit up by the moving 
lanterns. I saw the little group of people and 
heard the hushed voices. There were the 
lodge-keeper and his wife, and one or two more. 
They were taking no notice of me, but were 
very busy round the car. Then suddenly I 
heard a cry of pain. 

" The weight is on him. Lift it easy," cried 
a voice. 

" It's only my leg," said another one, 
which I recognized as Perkins's. " Where's 
master ? " he cried. 

" Here I am," I answered, but they did not 
seem to hear me. They were all bending over 
something which lay in front of the car. 

Stanley laid his hand upon my shoulder, 
and his touch was inexpressibly soothing. I 
felt light and happy, in spite of all. 

" No pain, of course ? " said he. 

" None," said I. 

" There never is," said he. 

And then suddenly a wave of amazement 
passed over me. Stanley ! Stanley ! Why, 
Stanley had surely died of enteric at Bloem- 
fontein in the Boer War ! 

II Stanley ! " I cried, and the words seemed 
to choke my throat — " Stanley, you are dead." 

He looked at me with the same old gentle, 
wistful smile. 
" So are you," he answered. 

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Original from 


IV* — Lady Randolph Churchill, 
V. — Lord Cheyiesmore. 
VI. — General Sir Neville Lyttelton. 

In this striking series of articles, which began in our last issue, a number 
of eminent men and women have consented to describe " the most 
impressive sight" they have ever seen. Their stories, as will be realized 
by the following examples, will be of the most varied and, in many 

cases thrilling kind, 


The Ceremony of Queen Victorians Juhilee in ^Veatminater Abbey* 


Illustrated from the Painting ty \A^. E. Locknart, R.S.A, 

aiBP M 

NEVER have seen, and prob- 
ably never shall see, a more 
imposing sight than the cere- 
mony in Westminster Abbey 
at the celebration of the late 
Queen Victoria's Jubilee* 
which has justly been de- 
scribed as a unique State ceremony in the 
annals of modern England* 

Fortunately, this most memorable of 
memorable days was blessed with the pro- 
verbial " Queen's weather/' Rarely have I 
seen London look so festive— blue sky and 
bright sunshine, flags everywhere, and an 
excited, yet patient, crowd filling the thorough- 
fares and the route of the procession from 
Buckingham Palace to the Abbey* In the 
procession were the greater number of Her 
Majesty's foreign guests, including four kings 
and several Crown princes, who, in closed 
carriages, went on in advance before Her 
Majesty's procession of open carriages set out. 
Never, I believe, can Westminster Abbey 
have held such a notable collection of dis- 
tinguished representatives of diverse foreign 
states and nations. I well remember as I 
entered the grand old Abbey remarking how 
altered in appearance it was. Right up into 
the ceiling, covering some of the windows 
and reaching to the lower edge of even the 
higher ones, ran the galleries with their 
benches covered and their fronts decorated in 
festoons with cloth of a deep, rich red, the 
colour of the Order of the Bath. 

Uv ten o'clock in the morning the Abbey 

y Goog] 

was completely filled, every seat in its vast 
galleries having its occupant. 

As the wife of an £x-Cabinet Minister, I was 
given a good place in the Abbey, and as I 
gtued round on the gorgeous uniforms of the 
men and the beautiful dresses of the women 
present the thought crossed my mind that a 
more brilliant spectacle can seldom have 
been seen in the whole history of England. 

Slowly the minutes passed, when, of a 
sudden, there came a breathless hush of 
expectation, and an occult force thrilled 
through the great assembly when it became 
known that the Queen was near at hand. 
The Prince of Wales rose from his seat and 
walked out of the nave into the porch ; the 
Royal trumpeters, in coats of gold embroidery 
and rich red velvet, raised their silver trumpets 
to their lips ; a musical fanfare burst forth ? 
and, a few seconds later, when the trumpets 
were silent, the inspiring strains of Handel's 
march peiled through the old Abbey and, 
amidst this stately blare , the whole congre- 
gation rose at the entry of the Queen and her 
Royal Family, the total number of the 
members of which, including her sons-in-law, 
daughters-in-law, and her grandsons and 
grand-daughters by marriage, amounted to 
forty- three* 

Slowly up the red-carpeted aisle the Royal 
procession advanced, three by three, in the 
same order in which they had ridden in the 
street procession, the Duke of Connaught 
being last* while the central places of the other 
threes in front of l!u k Prince of Wales were 




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occupied by the Crown Prince of Germany, 
Prince Albert Victor of Wales, Prince George 
of Wales, and Prince Christian Victor of 
Schleswig - Holstein. 

Pausing before seating herself in the 
Coronation Chair, Queen Victoria bowed 
low, first to the Royal guests, and afterwards 
to the rest of the assembly. Her Majesty's 
dress, I recall, showed a happy compromise 
between full State dress and plain morning 
dress, and, for the first time for a quarter of a 
century, she wore a white bonnet, which, if I 
may say so, struck me as becoming her par- 
ticularly well. 

The religious service consisted of thanks- 
giving and prayer, with appropriate choral 
music, and was read by the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, the Dean of Westminster, and 
the Bishop of London. Never, I think, has 
religious service been more impressive, every 
member of the brilliant assembly present 
being obviously moved by the solemnity of 
the occasion. 

At the conclusion of the initial thanks- 
giving, the Queen rose from the Coronation 
Chair and affectionately embraced the mem- 
bers of her family, beginning, of course, with 

the Prince of Wales. And, amidst the splen- 
did publicity of that superb assembly at once 
the central spectacle became that of an 
affectionate family party, which is surely 
far better than all the glory of all kingdoms 
on earth. 

After a solemn prayer, uttered by the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, the strains of the 
Te Deum burst forth, filling every corner of 
the Abbey with their rich volume of sound. 
That moment, I think, impressed me more 
than any other I have lived through in mv 

Surrounded by that vast assembly, whose 
gaze was riveted upon her, the Queen, repre- 
senting the glory and continuity of England's 
history, sat alone in the middle of the great 
nave. And a wave of emotion passed over 
the gorgeously-dressed crowd as silent tears 
were seen to be dropping one by one upon the 
folded hands of this small, pathetic figure, 
for the Te Deum which was being played had 
been composed by the Prince Consort, and I, 
who knew this, saw at that moment, not the 
Empress-Queen of the most powerful nation 
in the world, but a sad, lonely woman sorrow- 
ing for her dead husband. 


The Signing of Peace Between Russia and Turkey at San Stefano. 


Illustrated by John Cameron. 

I am inclined to think that I witnessed the 
most impressive sight of my life on Sunday, 
March 3rd, 1878 — the day on which the 
signatures were attached to the Treaty of 
Peace between Russia and Turkey at San 

In order to arrange terms of peace an 
armistice had been declared on January 31st, 
and slowly the rumour spread that when on 
Sunday, March 3rd, a review was to take 
place in honour of the Czar's acceptance of 
the Throne, there was more than a possibility 
that peace might also be concluded that day. 
In consequence, a large number of excur- 
sionists from Constantinople arrived at San 
Stefano by steamboat shortly after dawn, 
and when, as early as six in the morning, the 
whole of the Imperial Guard — a magnificent 
body of some twenty-five thousand men — 
paraded before the quarters of the Grand 
Duke Nicholas, even at that early hour a 
crowd of over twenty thousand spectators had 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

Slowly the hours passed, and two o'clock 
in the afternoon came and went without any 
movement from the house, so that at last the 
dread fear began to pervade the expectant 
watchers that even now some difficulty might 
have arisen which would prevent the signing 
of the Articles of Peace. 

Happily, however, this fear proved un- 
founded. War, after all, was not to break out. 
The review was delayed owing to the fact 
that the Grand Duke was waiting for the 
signatures to be attached to the Treaty, which 
could not be done until the Russian and 
Turkish copies of that document were com- 

Whether the delay was caused by the well- 
known dilatory tactics of the Turk I know 
not. The fact remains, however, that it was 
not till close on five in the afternoon that the 
Grand Duke rode up to the Diplomatic 
Chancery and asked at the door if the Treaty 
was ready. As he waited for a reply the 
agitation of the crowd grew so intense as to 



3' 1 


with BXL'iTjtMKNT/'Original from 





almost reach breaking-point. Groups of 
anxious watchers whispered nervously: lt Is 
it to be peace or war ? Was the prostrate 
and gasping Turk to be railed upon to once 
more put up the best defence he could to the 
relentless and ever-advancing Russian forces? 5 * 

The Grand Duke, wheeling sharply round, 
galloped off to the hill on winch the arm)' was 
drawn up, and a few minutes afterwards a 
carriage was seen rapidly driving towards the 

As he approached the Commander-in-Chief , 
General Ignatieff t rose, and speaking very 
slowly and distinctly, said : M I have the 
honour to congratulate your Highness on the 
signature of peace." 

A roar of satisfaction rose from the soldiers 
in the ranks. The Grand Duke rode between 
the lines and, halting on a small hill, ex- 
claimed ; " 1 have the honour to Inform the 
army that, with the help of God, we have 
concluded a Treaty of Peace/' Again the 
cheering rose and swelled, for there was not 
a man present who did not experience a feel- 
ing of intense relief that all possibility of a 
renewal of war was now at an end 

Before the march-past of the army, which 

was about twenty thousand strong, the Grand 
Duke telegraphed t > the Emperor at St. 
Petersburg a brief message of congratulation 
on the great event of the day. 

11 God has vouchsafed us/* he said, w the 
happiness of accomplishing the holy work 
begun. by your Majesty; and on the anni- 
versary of the enfranchisement of the serfs 
your Majesty has delivered the Christians 
from the Mussulman yoke/' 

Shortly afterwards the Sultan sent a 
message to his enemy, in which, referring to 
the circumstance of that being the anniversary 
of the Czar's acceptance of the Throne, he, 
too, offered his congratulations, u with the 
desire of renewing friendly relations/' 

The Emperor replied : "I thank your 
Majesty for your congratulations, which I 
received simultaneously with the news of the 
signature of peace. I perceive in this coinci- 
dence a presage of good and lasting relations 
between us." 

These formalities ended, on the conclusion 
of the review the Grand Duke observed to the 
officers bv whom he was surrounded : " To 
an army which has accomplished what voj 
have, my friends, nothing is impossible/* 

] i i B 


TO KIRK, TH^fc'^^j^^i^^^WA^ lO GET TO CLOSK 




All the officers then dismounted , the 
soldiers knelt, and, of a sudden, a great hush 
spread over the crowd which had only a few 
seconds before been noisily elated with 

The si^ht was one I shall never 

Twenty-five thousand men, drawn up facing 
towards Constantinople on a plateau on the 
edge of the cliffs, with bowed heads, knelt 

on the ground. For a few seconds there was 
an intense silence. The High Priest, in his 
gorgeous vestments, and the attendant clergy 
knelt in silent prayer* Suddenly the great 
hush passed, and in the declining radiance of 
an evening from which the storm-clouds were 
heavily drifting off, the solemn tone of a TV 
Deum mingled with the roar of winds and 
wave. And then, for a moment, all was peace 


The Charge of the Dervishes at Khartoum* 


Illustrated by Ernest Prater. 

On the assumption that I am undertaking to 
write on what 1 have seen in my military 
capacity, I have no hesitation in saying that 
the great charge of the Dervishes in the Battle 
of Khartoum was by far the most impressive 
sight I have ever witnessed. 

I saw some forty thousand of the bravest 

men in the world streaming across the open 
disdaining all cover, and with nothing of thi 
nature of a surprise in their attack , suffering 
hideous losses and inflicting scarcely any, and 
not giving in until the absolute impossibility 
of the attempt was proved beyond a doubt, 
It is doubtful whether such an onslaught as 


by LiOOgle 

riginal from 



that of the Dervishes will ever be seen again, 
so hopeless, and so utterly opposed to all 
tactical considerations. 

The Battle of Khartoum, as it is officially 
styled, took place on September 2nd, 1898. 
The march had been so arranged by Lord 
Kitchener that on the night before the in- 
tended battle we had the advantage of a 
glorious full moon. This was a very prudent 
precaution in view of the probability of a 
night attack. Nevertheless, it was rather an 
anxious time, as I think the Dervishes could 
have got within two hundred yards of us 
before being detected, and, with a very 
inadequate zareba for protection, a determined 
rush by vastly superior numbers would have 
been a serious thing. However, we were not 
put to any such test, and the battle took place 
in the brightest sunshine, and under conditions 
simply ideal from our point of view. 

The British troops, twenty-two thousand 
in number, were disposed in a sort of 
crescent formation, each flank of which rested 
on the Nile, on which lay a gunboat flotilla 
armed with quick-firing guns, a most valuable 
auxiliary armament. On the left were our 
artillery, then the infantry brigades as 
follows : From left to right — Lyttelton's, 
Wauchope's (British), Maxwell's, Macdonald's, 
and Lewis's (Sudanese and Egyptian) in first 
line ; Collinson's in reserve. The cavalry 
and camel - corps were, of course, recon- 
noitring in front. The original intention was 
to attack the Dervishes, who were encamped 
some five miles off, and we were preparing to 
advance at about four o'clock in the morning 
when the cavalry sent in word that the enemy 
were anticipating us, and were moving out to 
attack us. Accordingly we remained where 
we were, and were rewarded with one of the 
finest sights a soldier could wish to see. 

The Gebel Surgham hill, from which the 
charge was expected, was rather more than a 
mile and a half off, a perfect artillery range, 
and not out of reach of our rifles. 

Everything was ready, ranges taken, guns 
unlimbered, magazines charged, and ammuni- 
tion supply handy. We waited in absolute 
silence and in complete reliance on the fire 
discipline and steadiness of our young soldiers. 

Over the north-west shoulder of the hill 
suddenly a white banner appeared, quickly 
followed by many others, rising out of dense 
hordes of Dervishes, whose drums and war- 
cry, " Allah I Allah!" could be clearly heard 
even at that distance. These masses con- 
tinued extending across our right front until 
we were enveloped by them. I should think 
the ranks were fifty deep, mostly swordsmen 

Digitized by KrOO^lQ 

and spearmen, with comparatively few rifle- 
men, clad for the most part in white patchwork 
jibbehs. A forest of multi-coloured banners 
waved over their heads. Each Emir had his 
own particular standard, and these flags were 
regarded with the same feelings of loyalty and 
reverence by those who fought under them as 
are the colours of British regiments. Our 
artillery fully availed themselves of their 
opportunities. It was impossible to miss 
such a huge target : shell after shell 
dropped into the yelling crowd, the gaps 
made by them being easily discernible. 

Then our rifle-fire opened. The enemy 
fell in swathes, banner after banner sank to 
the ground, but rose again as fresh bearers 
replaced those who had fallen, only to fall in 
their turn. But for a time " nothing could 
stop that astonishing infantry." They never 
paused to fire, their only object was to get to 
close quarters, and they pressed on with un- 
diminished ardour. There was no gleam of 
success to encourage them. With a growing 
consciousness that they could hardly touch 
their enemy, they came on for nearly a mile 
under the pitiless hail of bullets and shrapnel. 
Then flesh and blood could do no more ; they 
faltered, broke up into fragments, and fell 
back, leaving an appalling proportion of dead 
and wounded on the ground. An attempt 
was made to collect mounted men for a 
charge, but it was futile. About two hundred 
started, but none reached our line. They fell 
like corn before the sickle. Only a handful 
of riflemen got within a few hundred yards of 
Wauchope's Brigade, and from a fold in the 
ground caused most of our casualties, but an 
enfilading fire from my Brigade Maxims 
accounted for nearly all of them. In this 
attack they lost some sixteen thousand men in 
killed and wounded, against our casualties 
of about a hundred. 

What civilizfid army would have faced such 
an ordeal for half the time that these gallant 
barbarians did ? There have been in com- 
paratively recent times several desperate 
charges in battle, but none in which the con- 
ditions were so unequal and the chances of 
success so hopeless as in this. In the great 
American Civil War the Federals at Cold 
Harbour and at Fredericksburg, and Pickett's 
Virginians at Gettysburg, had similar tasks, 
but not nearly so impossible. In fact, the 
Virginians did actually reach the Northern 
lines, though only to reel back half annihilated. 
At Khartoum the British lines were not 
reached at all, and for sheer gallantry 
the honours of the day rested with the 



Illustrated by Norman Morrow* 

[NOTE BY THE AUTHORS: "The strange occurrence here related actually took place. The railway 
was the Milwaukee and Wall ham Road* between Pembina and Granite Bluff. The bridge was the trestle 
bridge across the Menominee River. The driver's real name was William Vanass, and his wife was taken 

ill and died t as here described."] 

MHN I was stationed in Sierra 
Leone I met and became 
friends with a man called Bill 
Summers, a muscular, flaxen- 
headed Englishman, imbued 
with the roving spirit and 
quick mastery of detail which 
makes it so hard for a man to succeed. If a 
beginner takes a month or more to learn a 
trade thoroughly, he thinks before he leaves 
it to embark upon something fresh, and, 
consequently, the plodder rises slowly, while 
the man of brilliant brain learns one thing 
and another, and drags his days out in 
spasmodic bursts of prosperity and long 
spurts of want. 

Bill Summers had been everything : 
farmer, sailor, engineer, gold-miner, cook ; 
his lean, nervous hands were as good at 
tossing an omelette as they were light upon 
the most intricate machinery. Now he was 
taking a rest, having found a fair seam in the 
gold - mines, and was trying his hand at 
exploiting the vegetable wealth of Africa. 

4,. ^ 

He did well, too, but he got tired of it in 
two years, and flitted off as engineer again. 
He was a born wanderer. He had made a 
pleasant little place of his bungalow, cleared 
rigorously all round, so that what air there 
was came freshly ; and he had furnished the 
house quite luxuriously. 

Bill had asked me up for a week, and as I 
looked round his room I saw a large moth 
beautifully mounted in a sandal-wood case, 
hanging over his writing-table. 

It was fine, but white, a common species, 
and, strolling over to look at it, I wondered 
why he kept it. 

44 Wondering at that ? " he said, as he 
puffed at his pipe, " I never go about 
without it, Grey. It's got a waterproof case 
when I'm aboard ship — it's to be buried with 
me when I die," His voice sounded strangely 

" Yes ? " I said, full of curiosity. " Yes ? " 
But he made no answer . a Ever hear," I 
went on, looking at the moth, whose wings 
were singed i^igJ^^jfroPrf what the natives 




say here — when men die their souls go into 
moths ? " 

" No." He started suddenly. " No— I— 
never heard that, Grey/' Looking at him I 
saw he had gone white under the coppery tan, 
and his hands were clenched. 

I guessed I had trenched on forbidden 
ground, so, leaving the moth alone, went on 
talking of Africa's strange customs and 

II Why, up country," I said, " far up the 
yellow rivers with their eternal smell of 
mangoes, I suppose there are tribes which 
are as cruel and savage as ever." 

" Oh, it's a queer country," he said, looking 
beyond his cleared garden to the ring of 
dense bush, broken by the towering cotton 
trees, and beyond it the dim outline of 
mountains, blue in the shimmering haze. 
" But there are strange things in all lands,' ' 
he went on, dreamily, his eyes on the big 
moth. " One cannot say whence they come 

or whither they go. Yet " The man's 

face changed to an expression of intense 
sadness ; one caught a glimpse of the hidden 
sorrow which would never let him rest. 

" I'll tell you about it," he said, suddenly, 
nodding towards the moth, " though it's a 
thing I have never spoken of." 

He sat lost in thought for a moment, and 
then began : — 

I was, as I've told you, one of the many 
who have to do for themselves. My boy- 
hood was a happy one, and I was trained, 
in accordance with my own wish, as an 
engineer, when my father died suddenly, 
taking almost all his income with him. 
There was the usual family break-up, and I 
was shipped to Canada with a pittance in my 
pocket-book and the customary directions 
behind me to become a millionaire at once. 
Oh ! one can do so much in a great strange 
land with inexperience and fifty pounds ! I 
was as full of high hopes as those I had left 
behind me. Of course, I was cheated of half 
my little store ; the dream of becoming a 
millionaire or even a moderate success faded 
for ever, but I was quick to learn, and got 
regular employment on the Canadian Pacific. 
It meant enough to eat and the right to live, 
which was a great deal to me, and I rose to 
engine-driver in quite a short time. 

I met Jenny there — he spoke her name 
with difficulty. She was a lady; but, poor 
as I was, when I asked her she faced the idea 
of life in a cottage as an engine-driver's wife 
quite happily. How we planned out our 
lives ! There was nothing to wait for, and 

we were married at once. We had enough to 
live on, a comfortable little home, and if — if 
she had lived on I should be out there still 
instead of being the wanderer I have turned 
into. But that does not matter. 

We were married in October, and in 
April my girl fell ill. It was fever — what, I 
hardly know, for she never saw a doctor, but 
she was very bad. It took all my extra 
money to buy her soup and jellies, and I 
could not even afford to hire a nurse, so that 
I spent many anxious hours with her when I 
was at home. 

I was running the regular night express 
from Koolnay to Bloville then, and the early 
morning squatters' train back from Bloville 
to Koolnay, so I was always pretty tired 
when I got in about seven. When Jenny was 
well she had breakfast ready, and I used to 
turn in and sleep like a log for a few hours so 
as to .be fresh for the night run. 

Now my poor little girl lay panting in 
illness. She was well-born herself, but I 
never heard her grumble at our life. As I 
say, she was in some kind of fever, with fits 
of shivering and lassitude. When I came in 
she was worn out from a long, lonely night, 
and instead of resting, I had to tidy up the 
cottage, get her some hot tea, and some 
breakfast for myself. My rest was only 
snatched ; I could not bear to leave her for 
a minute during the day, and it was impossible 
to ask for leave off at night, for they were 
short-handed on the line, and a man who 
goes off his job is very likely to be told he 
can stay — for good. So I nursed my girl and 
ran my trains until, practically without sleep 
for three days and nights, my head began to 
feel as if there was an iron band round it, my 
mouth was dry and my eyes aching, as I 
brewed myself some coffee and started out 
on the third night of her illness. 

Jenny was weak but fairly easy, promising 
me pitifully that she would sleep and be quite 
well in the morning. 

Dear girl. How she must have dreaded 
those long, lonely nights. I left milk and 
water beside her, and some cooling medicine 
I had got from town, kissed her little, shrunken 
face, and swung away. 

" I watch for you, Bill, on the runs," she 
said, in a wandering voice, just as I went out. 
" I watch for you, dear." 

The thaws of spring were with us ; the 
ground was a great slush, and every river a 
roaring, icy torrent, swollen with bitter snow- 
water. The night was drizzly and misty, and 
I stumbled through it, rubbing my aching 
eyes. JQribflffrfi felt .as if the inside had been 




taken out and nothing but a cavity left. 
Yrant of sleep with a job in front of you when 
every sense must be alert is a very hard thing 
to bear. My heart was like lead as I got to 
the engine and found Jack, my fireman, 
stoking up. 

Outside, the drizzle had turned to a white, 
thick fog — clinging clammily to the world. 

" How's the missus, Bill ? " Old Jack put 
up his red, coal-streaked face. 

11 Bad, Jack," I said, quietly. " Bad." 

" We haven't got too much time, either, 
and you look worn out yourself/' he said. 
" Cheer up, Bill, them fevers wears out by 
themselves mostly on the third day — they 
burns that high they can't go on." 

" No ? " I said, and I shuddered. What 
if it burnt away the little flickering life ? 

" Can't you insist on a relief ? " he asked. 

I laughed drearily. " To insist would 
mean the shove out, Jack," I said, " and I 
can't be out of work, now, of all times — the 
little wife wants so much." 

s I forgot how tired I was as I ran round my 
big engine, oiling, wiping, testing; seeing 
that she was ready for her long run. Then I 
jumped into the cab, pulled open the throttle, 
and backed the engine, snorting furiously, 
down to the waiting line of carriages. She 
was a powerful engine, able to do her sixty 
if I asked her, and sweet-tempered as my 
Jenny. Our engines are live things to us 
drivers, you know. Sometimes I think there 
are brains under their great hoods. 

At the faint jar of the snorting buffers and 
the leap of the porters to couple up, I saw I 
was barely up to time. It was a long, tough 
run at night j everything was in order for it, 
but my head swam emptily and my eyes 
blinked once or twice, despite myself ; the 
fog, too, had made the night heavy. It clung 
clammily, blurring the station lights. There 
was a small crowd upon the platform, and I 
saw the superintendent fussing and bowing 
as he ushered some men to a reserved carriage. 
Then he left them and came quickly across 
to me. 

I opened my eyes resolutely. He was an 
ill-tempered fellow, and we were all afraid of 

" Those are the M.P.'s and Lord Dalgrace 
from England," he said, "going toBloville to 
coQnect with the express to Ottawa. It's a 
raw, thick night, Summers, but you must 
run her through it. Bring her in up to time. 
Missus better, I hope ? " 

" No," I said, dully. " And she wants me 
there. If you could give me a couple of days 
off, sir." 

" Impossible just now," he said, carelessly. 
" Bates is down with pleurisy and Jack 
Denver has broken his leg. We want every 
hand we have — or — " he looked at me 
ominously — " we could get fresh ones up 
from Montreal." 

That hint was enough. I turned away sick 
at heart, pulled the throttle open, and, with 
a scream of joy, the train swooped out into 
the bitter, white mist. Running an express 
at night is no light work. It's not only keeping 
to the steel rails, as people seem to think, 
but watching, looking out for every signal, 
dreading lest a stray cow upon the line may 
wreck the human freight in our care. And 
my whole thoughts were baxjk in the little 
cottage. I had to force mysfejf to the look- 
out — the fog blurred the glass, and Jack 
and I had to strain our eyes as we roared past 
small stations, to see the flashing whiteness 
of line clear and no blur of angry red to stop 
our way. 

The engine was running, as she always did, 
like a dream, hauling the cars up the inclines 
with superb ease, floating down the gradients. 
Sleepless as I was, I felt my heart throb for 
pride in her as we came past Black Springs 
and ran the long flat before the steep pull of 
Sholc Hill. 

Jack took the left, I the right, our eyes 
fixed upon the blur of wet radiance which our 
head-lights slashed from the gloom, and then 
I cried out in amazement. Against the fog 
in front I saw the gigantic shape of a woman 
waving her arms at us — waving them 
methodically, straight out to her shoulders, 
drop down, and straight out again — drop. 
It is the Canadian human signal to stop, 
known as " waving a train down." 

Instinctively my fingers turned to shut 
off steam, then I stared again and drew a 
long breatlv— the figure was too large to be 
human, nor could anyone stand so long 
before our tearing onrush. With a glance at 
Jack, who was staring out steadily and 
quietly, I brushed my tired eyes and groaned. 

I must knock off engine-driving, if my 
sleepless brain was to bring me these visions 
of the night. 

But I ran her a little too easily across the 
stretch of flat, and Jack turned to look at me. 
Shole Hill was a long, steep gradient, and 
after we topped that there was a steep 
descent and a wide curve over the Slaveboy 
Bridge, with the river roaring in high flood 
against it. 

" See anything ? " Jack asked. " Better 
get up a bit for the hill, eh ? " 

" I — it was a shadow/' I said, uneasily, 




and let my beauty go again. Lord, how she 
flung herself at the black night, her head- 
lights nosing into the gloom as she tore 

But we had only run two miles more of the 
flat, when out of the fog the form loomed 
out again. Arms up — dropped. Up — dropped. 
A monster woman waving us down. 

Jack was stoking up then, the glow of the 
red-hot coal upon his face. 

" For God's sake ! " I cried, " Jack. Here ! 
What's ahead ? " 

He dropped his shovel and sprang to his 
side of the cab. 

" Nothing — dead clear," he called out. 
" What's up, Bill ? " 

" Someone — waving us down," I said. 
" Out ahead in the fog. I've seen her 
twice, Jack. A woman — stopping us." 

" There's no one," he said, and pulled a 
flask from his pocket. " Take a nip, old 
chap. You're dead worn out from anxiety 
and a want o' rest, and you're thinking o' 
your missus. Sit down and let me run her 
for a stretch, old man." 

I took a mouthful of the fiery spirit, but I 
shook my head and kept my fingers on the 
lever. The engine must have her own master. 

"" It's not that," I said, huskily. " It's 
Jenny, Jack. She said she'd watch. She's 
died since I came out. Oh, she's died since 
I came out, and that's her ahead." I think 
I sobbed a little in my sheer misery. 

" Another nip," he said. Poor old greaser 
Jack, it was all he could think of to help me. 
" That's imagination," he said, sharply, " just 
from want of sleep. Let her out now for the 
hill, Bill." 

He ran back to his glowing furnace, slipping 
easily along the rocking cab. How little the 
sleepy, grumbling passengers think of the two 
men crouching in the cab as we tear through 
the night. 

I put the engine at the climS, and she went 
for it with her great heart working, but half- 
way up the figure was there again. Looming 
gigantic — arms out — dropped — out — dropped 
again — waving us down, excitedly, insistently, 
as if angry at my lack of notice. It was too 
much then — I shut off steam and crammed on 
brakes half-way up the steep climb. The 
engine chafed as a horse hard held, the wheels 
gritting on the rails — but I did not whistle 
for back brakes, as yet. 

"Bill — are you crazy?" Jack sprang to 
my side. " On the hill, too, man ! " 

" No ; it was the figure," I said. " She's 
there, Jack, waving us down. It means 

something '' gilized by GoOgle 

His hard red face grew suddenly thoughtful, 
but he pushed my hand from the brakes. 

" Don't .stop her, Bill," he implored, peer- 
ing out into the white swirl at the left side. 
44 There's nothing on the line. The inspector 
will only come along and say you're drunk — 
that stuff I gave you smells still." He leant 
out and peered back. "I see his lamp out 
already; he's on the footboard. Get on, or 
it will mean losing your job — there's nothing 
ahead, man." 

I put up the brakes slowly, and my poor 
engine, loosed once more, took the hill at the 
exhaust — every puff from her overwrought 
self a bitter remonstrance to me. 

" Look out — sharp, Jack ! " I cried, as we 
slowly gathered way. " It must be a warn- 
ing. Look ahead, man ! " 

He had caught a little of my anxiety as we 
toiled and grunted up the hill, and, having 
topped it, there was the long, steep gradient 
with us to the Slaveboy Valley, then the flat 
bit, and double right and left curve before 
the Slaveboy Bridge. 

The engine could take her breath now 
after her toil — the slope was practically with 
her through the tunnel at the other side of 
the bridge and into Edmonton, where we 

We went dizzily down, swooping into the 
white dimness until the cars rocked. 

Jack looked at the clock. " Let her go, 
Bill," he said. " We're off time, four 
minutes at least, and we were never that 
before. Let me drive her for a spell, Bill, an' 
you rest." 

I think he was afraid my hand would be 
unsteady during that plunge downhill, for I 
was white as death, he told me afterwards, 
and looked utterly fagged out. 

My heart was dead within me. " Jenny ! 
Jenny ! Jenny is dead ! " sang the wheels 
as they turned. 

" No, I'll keep her," I said. " I've got to 
mind them all, Jack." 

We tore down, steam off, racing, if anything, 
too fast, for the curve before the bridge was 
a nasty one. But we had to make up our 
time, and your passenger is only pleased 
when he feels his carriage sway to the breath- 
less speed. 

" What a flood there'll be to-night ! " said 
Jack. " It's been too quick a thaw ; Jhe 
snow's down in masses." 

The drizzle and the fog swept past us in a 
luminous cloud. 

" They do say they didn't build that bridge 
too well," he added. " Not tough enough 
for the weight of the spring floods, sir. They 





come dooming down the Slaveboy in waves 
like the Bay of Biscay , so they do. 1 ' 

We came for the curve — the engine, like a 
greyhound in leash, doing her forty now 
when she thirsted for her sixty, but I had to 
hold her for the sharp turn. 

" Jack ! " I screamed. He was stoking. 
Ahead again — the huge figure — its arms up 
and down and up and down again waving 

* t * 1 

wildly for me to stop, Faster and f aster , as 
if it could not insist enough. Madlv now. 

" Jack ! ?J I cried, " Here ! M He sprang 
to my side of the cab. 

11 Lord ! I see her, Bill/' he cried. u She's 
waving us down. What is it, man? What 
is it ? It's waving us down 3 1? 

I did not know, but I meant to stop this 

time. Off went the steam, down went the 
Original from 


3 2 ° 



Westinghouse brake ; the engine whistled 
twice to the brakesman to put on all brakes. 
I reversed the gear and we slid round the 
curve to the ri^ht, .slackening steadily, round 
again to the left — the worst bit on the line 
— then we stopped altogether, with the river 
howling and surging not sixtv vards in front, 

" What was it, Bill ? " Jack muttered. " It 
warn't nothin' human, it was too big 3 but it 
waved us down — right enough.* 1 

The engine stopped with a slight jerk. I 
could hear raised voices, then feet pattering 
on the line, They were coming with sharp, 
angry questions, and there was nothing ahead 
to account for my mad action ; nothing any- 
where but the white swirl of the fog and the 
luminous uiow of our head-lights. 

by Google 

" What's up there with you, Bill Summers ? 
You almost stopped before. Is anything 
wrong with the engine, or what's ahead of us ? '* 
The inspector dashed up* covered with mois- 
ture, and stood on the line in a blazing temper, 

" What's up ? " he roared. 

u Nothing with the engine. Someone 
waved us down, sir,*' I said, quietly. 

He would only call me drunk if I told him 
the exact truth. 

" Someone — what ! 1T He swTjng into the 
cab, snarling. " Waved you down out here, 
with no one within fifty miles — impos- 
sible ! You're mad, Summers;' he sniffcd, 

' 4 I seen it, too, sir," said gTeaser Jack. 

" down, hard, just back here." 
Urigmal from 




" There's no one on the line* Na one to 
do it;" Inspector Jones treated us to a flow 
of brisk abuse as he ordered us to start 

** Ten minutes latu;' he roared. kt with the 
South-bound waiting for us and these English- 
men on tht train I I'll report this. Who could 
wave us down out here ? tJ 

I dared not say what I had really seen. It 
would have meant instant dismissal for 
drunkenness, but I repeated doggedly that 
we had been waved down and there must be 
something ahead. Until I saw what, I de- 
clined to start the engine on her road. 

n This will be a nice report to hand in," he 
growled. And then, more softly, to a man 
outside— ' T expect his head's gone— wife 

dy ■ ill j y'know. jack, here, can run her/' 

he said. (1 Give her over to him/' 

lb I'd like to squint ahead, sir/ 3 said Jack, 
doubtfully. iL We were waved down, right 

" Someone out here?— it's sheer, downright 
nonsense. But come and see for yuursrlt." 
Protesting and furious, the inspector dropped 
out, and we hurried down the line. 

Mist-shrouded desolation on either side ; 
no house within miles. The chill folly of my 
story made me shiver. Who, indeed, could 
have stood out there to stop us ? No one 
would ever believe me* The sullen, roaring 
boom of the river surged higher and higher 
as we n eared the bridge. 

Our lampsiltpjl4iFi^it,f|iXS'ficanned the empty 






line, looking this way and that. The mist 
had clung about us clammily, but a sudden 
cool breath parted it ; it lifted, rolling up in 
huge, white billows, a faint coppery g learn 
came from the ragged edges of the clouds, 
and in the faint light we could see the black 
mass of water as it slid and foamed in mighty 
majesty, and the long parapets of the bridge 
stretching out across the flood. 

" There, you see/' the inspector wheeled 
upon me — the others were some w f ay behind, 

Digitized by GOOglC 

and in dumb despair I knew that I should 
lose my place, and my girl, ill as she w-as, 
know want. " You see, you, Bill Summers^ 
you must take some easier job. You 
dreamt the whole thing, you two*" 

He stepped upon the bridge. The wood 
was tumbling strangely as the solid mass of 
waters struck it. " You " 

He stopped. His fingers gripped my arm, 
a fresh eddy of fog dimmed our sight, but in 
the uncertain light the parapets seemed to 



3 2 3 

melt into blackness where they should have 
run grey across the river. 

" You — oh, look there — or am I mad ? " 
he yelped. " Look there, Bill Summers ! " 

There was no talk of dreaming now. 

" God in Heaven above us, the bridge has 
gone ! It's gone ! " He screamed and leapt 
from the rocking timbers to the solid line. 
Then crept out again, lamp in hand, until the 
feeble rays fell on emptiness. Not twenty 
yards from where we stood the Slaveboy 
Bridge had been completely swept away. 

The flood was fretting, with yellow, foaming, 
dripping jaws at jagged ends of broken 
timber, tearing fresh niouthfuls with each 
onrush. Huge baulks swayed and went 
down, even as we looked. Here and there a 
few jagged ends dangled pitifully, a piece of 
broken trestle swung in the middle, one 
length of rail ran on to an unbroken baulk, 
then as the river mouthed and leapt, it fell, 
and there was nothing but the ever-widening 
gap ; the turgid, unchecked flood. 

The inspector's fingers were tight upon my 
arm. I bore the marks for days. We stood 
silent on the remnant of the groaning bridge, 
looking first at the flood, then at each other. 
Voices shouted to us from the line, but we 
took no heed. 

" Who — waved us down ? " whispered 
Inspector Jones, hoarsely. " Who could have 

done it — out here ? For if they had not " 

He pointed to the maddened torrent. 

If they had not, the engine would have 
leaped at top speed into that awful void, 
dragging her helpless human freight to a 
swift but hideous death, trapped like rats 
in that mighty flood ; no time to stop her or 
to jump out, when that yawning chasm 
opened suddenly in front. 

" Who waved us down ? " he repeated. 
" Who ? " 

I could only shake my head. 

He ran back then. " The bridge has gone," 
he roared out, running up the line and waving 
his lamp frantically. " The bridge has been 
swept away. But for the driver's stop we 
should have been all drowned like rats. Oh, 
it's too awful." He was wildly excited. 

Passengers poured from the carriages, 
listening and shuddering ; they scurried 
along to look for themselves, they came back 
and wrung my hands and promised me a 
subscription. I stood dully quiet — / had not 
stopped the train. 

II Search the line back there. Look under- 
neath. We may have killed the man who 
saved us ! " 

by Google 

Lamps flashed under the carriages, were 
waved about to either side, but there was no 
one there. 

" Sharp there ! Back her to Dennistown 
and get the news to Edmonton," cried the 
inspector, as he finished his search ; " the 
freight will be due here in an hour." 

" Who did it, Jack ? " I whispered, as they 
were all searching. " What was it ? " 

"What was it?" I gasped out, watching 
Summers. Africa seemed to have faded 
away, and I could see the desolate line, hear 
the hoarse roar of the flooded river. 

" Ah, who ? " — his eyes were very sad. " I 
got into the cab. I had forgotten my 
sleeplessness by now. Jack was out upon 
the line, looking about him, aimlessly. I 
peered out into the front, wondering if I 
should still see the figure, and then I saw 
what it had been. 

" That moth was inside the big head-light, 
and its fluttering, tortured wings had thrown 
at intervals, as it moved, a gigantic, distorted 
shadow on the luminous fog outside. Those 
were the arms which had waved us down so 
persistently and saved the train ! 

" Something prevented me from telling the 
crowd outside. I opened the light, took it 
out, and put it carefully away — the mystery 
was explained. 

" But my heart was heavy as I backed the 
engine up the hill and down to Dennistown, 
where we 'phoned to save -the freight, then 
back to Koolnay with our tale of disaster and 
escape. The station was filled all ni^,ht, 
wires flashing here and there, but I left 
them and ran home — and " — Summers's voice 
grew very quiet — " my Jenny was gone — 
peacefully — in her sleep. There was no trace 
of pain in her tired face, and she smiled as she 
had often done to welcome me home. 

" Driver Summers got his subscription and 
testimonial for prompt action. I could have 
taken my pick of trains then. But I never 
drove the old engine, or any other, again. 
My heart was too sore with the duty which 
had taken me away that night. 

" I became a wanderer on the face of the 
earth, with only that scorched thing to keep 
me company. The moth was in the lamp, 
Grey, but — she promised to watch the 

run " His voice trailed away ; he got 

up, walking to the window. I said nothing. 

Then, after an interval of quite five minutes, 
he turned to me with a quiet smile : — 

" You don't wonder at my keeping that 
moth now, do you ? " he said, gently. 
Original from 



Do Not 




Illustrated ty CLaa- Grave. 

]HE one thing a bowler dislikes 
more than anything else is to 
be treated with scant cere- 
mony* It does not please 
him to behold his best balls 
met with bold assurance and 
played well, and he is apt to 




become almost visibly annoyed if a ball which 

he considers worth a wicket results in a 

boundary instead, This may sound like 

unduly insisting on the 

obvious, but it is so 

important that I have 

given it place of honour 

in my article. When 

a bowler finds himself 

treated with respect he 

will bowl his best all 

the time until beaten 

by sheer fatigue, and 

batsmen who do not 

wish to study a bowler's 

feelings would do well 

to ponder on this fact. 

The batsman who 

simply will not be 

denied in his energetic 

quest for runs uses 

up his bowlers far more 

quickly than the man 

who is content to play 

over after over " for 

keeps/ * and allow runs 

to come on their own 

initiative, Scoring 



strokes off good balls are the pet aversion of 

our friend the bowler, who, contrary to the 

popular idea, is by no means averse to that 

slow batting of the safe type which does not 

make rapid runs of his 

average, and keeps him 

buoyed up with the 

constant hope of getting 

a wicket cheaply — even 

if he has to wait a long 

time for it. 

Having mentioned the 
general principle under- 
lying all batsmanshtp 
which fails to commend 
itself to bowlers, I will 
proceed to treat of par- 
ticular strokes, after 
explaining how modern 
methods have made a 
great increase in the 
number of strokes 
bowlers do not like, 
Batsmen cast in the 
severely classical mould 
of a by - no - means - 
distant past could al- 
ways be relied upon to 
^beaten by sheer FATiciiit^li do certain "correct" 







things — to push forward at almost any 
ball with left elbow and left shoulder point- 
ing straight at the bowler, while movement 
of the right foot wfcs usually limited to 
raising the heel as the batsman half pushed, 
half swung himself forward. These very 
correct batsmen only moved the whole of 
the right foot when cutting a ball, and then, 
possibly, only for one kind of cut, Of course, 
they had to get a move on their right foot if 
they dashed out to hit a ball, but I fancy 
that such enterprise was rather discouraged 
by the best judges of style. This type of 
batsman might make a century without 
seriously annoying a bowler, simply because all 
his strokes were framed on a standard model — 
once supposed to comprise the whole of bats- 
rnanship, but now recognized as nothing more 
than a section of the art of batting. 

An important section, I admit , for on good 
fast wickets, and against most bowling, 
punishing strokes in front of the wicket offer 
the easiest and best method of collecting runs 
off the majority of balls which deserve to be 
hit. And on normal wickets against bowling 
too fast to break to any appreciable extent 
forward play pure and simple is the best 
method of defence, especially if, as should 
always be the case, it is aggressive enough to 
l * play " a ball for one or two runs if the 
fieldsman misses it. With batsmen whose right 
foot is practically a fixture, the bowler has a 
sort of implied understanding, so to speak, A 
ball of a certain length must be played — one 
more or less over-pitched may be driven, 
and a convenient ball on the off is likely to be 
cut. On the other hand, balls which pitch 
an awkward length and " do a bit " are worth 
a wicket. This is quite understood by both 
parties, and until comparatively recently 

was so universal in every class of cricket that 
a bowler felt really hurt if a batsman dared 
to make effective departures from long-stan- 
dardized strokes. 

This feeling is not quite dead yet, and some 
of my readers will doubtless be surprised to 
learn that in order to bring it to perfection 
within the breast of a bowler, the first thing 
a batsman must do is to move his feet. One 
reads a lot about batsmen opening their 
shoulders with tremendous effect, or using 
their wrists in marvellous style ; but many 
writers on the game seem to forget that a 
man's feet carry his shoulders, wrists, and all 
the rest of him, and that unless his feet are 
placed in the proper position no batsman will 
bother a bowler* The point I want to make 
very clear is that foot movement must 
accompany and precede every other action 
incidental to making a stroke, except the 
preliminary lift of the bat. Ordinary ob- 
servers miss this vital point because their eyes 
are fixed on the bat. This gives them a 
perfect view of wrist, arm, and shoulder 
action , but foot movement impresses them no 
more than the foundations of St. Paul's would 
interest a spectator who was admiring the 

Yet the correct movement of the feet is so 
all-important that I 
will make a special 
effort to explain it 
by means of a 
simple illustration* 
Stand sideways 
against a wall with 
the left foot and 
the left shoulder 
touching the wall. 
Then try to lift the 
right foot. ' It can- 
not be done, simply 
because the weight 
of the body is 
thrust on that foot. 
It follows, there- 
fore, that the first 
thing a batsman 
must do who in- 
tends to use his feet 
properly is to get 
his weight off the 
foot he wishes to 
move, The merest 
turn of the upper 
part of the body 
will do this, but the 
practical point is 
that when ©riqifial ff^OTT really hurt* 15 




desired to bring the right foot across 
the wicket the first thing to do is to 
put the weight of the body on the left 
foot. This frees the right foot, which can 
then be placed in any desired position like 
a flash, the movement being accelerated by a 
thrust with the muscles of the left leg. Need- 
less to say, the action is reversed when the 
left foot is moved ; and I must explain that 
in actual cricket the movements are so quick 
as to be next to simultaneous. I have gone 
into the underlying principle of footwork in 
detail because it is no use writing about 
" stepping across the wicket " to make any 
particular stroke unless the reader knows just 
what is meant by taking such a step, or, for 
that matter, a step in any other direction. 

Now comes the application of footwork 
with the commendable intention of increasing 
the discomfiture of the bowler to the point 
of frenzy, if we can manage it. Our first 
consideration under this heading must be 
directed to the fact that by freeing the right 
foot in accordance with modern ideas on 
batting we gain nearly as much latitude 
behind the batting- crease as forward play 
gives us in front of it. We are thus doubly 
armed. By an adroit step backwards we 
can make a ball very short, which is really 
only a trifle under-pitched, or can transform 
a good-length ball into one decidedly on the 



short side. In addition, we are able to watch 
the ball right up to the bat. If a batsman 
steps backwards in an oblique direction he 
can make a ball anything except what the 
bowler intended it to be. For instance, a 
capable bat can transform in this manner a 
shortish straight ball into a ball to leg which 
can be hooked with impunity, and a very good 
batsman indeed, even as first-class batsmen 
go, can step back and to the right to a perfect- 
length ball and clip it away to leg for four. 
A beautiful stroke, and one which annoys a 
bowler tremendously, but it is given to few 
men to possess that almost supernatural 
quickness and judgment which alone can 
render the stroke advisable. But straight 
shortish balls, provided they are not too fast, 
can be hooked round to leg by stepping back 
and across the wicket, and it is far better to 
punish them like this than to simply play 
them. Such strokes make a bowler feel 
nervous about his length, and tend to create 
that feeling of dismay akin to panic which is 
invaluable — to the batsman. 

But, after all, the stroke is played bat in 
hand, and it will not disconcert the bowler in 
the least if a man gets his feet into ideal 
position, and manipulates the bat wrongly. 
But the hook stroke can scarcely go amiss if 
it is attempted at the right sort of ball and 
the batsman is posed correctly in good time 
for the stroke. Then a quick turn of the 






ing, as in 

J^Sfc. ^ m ffift l ust a ^ out a5 c l ever as attempt- 

- . ^ -_ j n g t0 cut ever y other ball or 

so. Fast bowling cannot be 
hooked on hard wickets— the 
ball is on the batsman before he 
has time to make his oblique 
step and get outside the flight 
of the sphere. On slow wickets, 
however, and also on sticky 
wickets which help the bowler 
intent on " big breaks/' the 
hook stroke is invaluable 
against slow to medium bowl- 
these circumstances an accom- 
plished " hooker" can score a boundary off 
a good-length ball, and even those who are 
not by any means masters of the art can 
collect runs off balls just short of a good 
length. The more the ball breaks from the 
off the better the batsman likes it for 
" hooking " purposes on a suitable wicket ; 
and I need scarcely remark that the bowler 
is deeply chagrined to see his pet off-break 
not only rendered harmless but actually 
transmogrified into a means of run-getting. 
I now propose to turn to the cut, without, 
however, dilating unduly on " the unkindest 
cut of all " — that master stroke which cuts 
a bait clean off the bails. Such a stroke is 
simply heart-breaking to a bowler, but the 
batsmen who can make it are so marvellously 
adept at cutting that their performances 
amount to cricket miracles- Fortunately 
for the bowlers, this gift is very rare 
indeed, so rare that it is only to be 
worshipped w r ith reverential awe by the vast 
majority of batsmen, who must be con- 
tent with such cutting as may fairly be 
called human. This provides an effec- 
tive and artistic means of scoring off 

balls otherwise 
u nassailable> 
except, pos- 
sibly, by an 
a g ri c u 1 1 ural 
pull to the on 
brought off successfully at 
times by village blacksmiths 
who do not happen to be 
cricketers- A wicket must 
be reasonably fast for cut- 
ting to be worth attempting 
at all, and on such a wicket 
an ideal ball to cut is some- 
what short- pitched to the 
off, and reaches the batsman 
at just the right height for 

"AN AGRICULTURAL PULL TO THE ON BROUGHT 6>IHgirtfe ( - stroke. TtirQW the right 

bsdy to the on, and a stroke made almost 
entirely with the right arm and wrist will 
hook a ball most effectively. But the bats- 
man's right arm and shoulder should be 
outside the line of the ball's direction to 
enable this to be done, and here it is very 
necessary to note that it is the angle the ball 
makes off the pitch which counts, not by 
any means the original line of the ball. A 
ball which keeps fairly straight can be 
hooked, but the ideal ball for the stroke is 
one a little short which is breaking in from 
the off* Balls which come in from the leg 
side are best dealt with by another stroke. 
The left hand and arm must not be swung 
across the body, or the whole stroke will be 
ruined. It is, as its name denotes, a " hook " 
with the right arm and wrist, more with the 
latter than anything else, and quickness and 
freedom of action make the stroke. 

The main points connected w r ith the hook 
stroke have now been dealt with, and practice 
at the nets will soon give facility to those 
who are not 
petrified into 
the old- 
stance and 
style. But in 
match play, be 
careful, as 
there is hardly 
a stroke more 
easy to over- 
do than the 
hook. It is so 
pretty and 
effortless when 
it does come 
off, that bats- 
men compara- 
tively new to 
the stroke will 
try to hook 
almost any- 
thing, which is 

Vol. xlvi.-42* 



— I feel half inclined to say — throw the bat 
after it, and such a ball can be cut with ease. 
The point to bear in mind about a cut is that 
it is not a hit at all in the generally-understood 
sense of the word — it is just an indescribable 
flick which deflects a rapidly - moving ball 
downwards, always downwards, and also in 
an entirely fresh direction, which may be 
anything from the rousing square cut past 
point to the delicate effort designed to cut a 
ball late and fine through well-placed slip 

There is something of the shimmer of sword- 
play in an ideal cut. The right foot goes 
across with the quick, light step of a fencer, 
and as soon as the weight is fairly on the foot 
the bat sings through the air and the stroke is 
made. But how ? This is a fair question, I 
admit, but it almost has me stumped, if only 
because cutting is so largely a matter of 
natural aptitude. Some men seem to cut a 
ball by instinct, and may play the stroke well 
enough for county cricket, while the rest of 
their batting is by no meam above the average. 
On the other hand, many a good-class bat in 
every other respect only learns to cut a ball 
well after years of effort and practice, and 
even then is not in the same class for cutting 
as the comparative novice who has an inbred 
talent for this delightful and elusive phase of 
batting. This is all very true, but tells nothing 
of how to make the stroke, so here goes to do 
my best. The bat should be lifted easily in a 
graceful backward curve which scarcely 
changes the position of the left hand, and 
bends the right arm with the elbow near the 
side like a spring in compression ready to fly 
out the instant the stroke is made. Then the 
bat is not 'dropped on the ball, or brought 
down on it like a chopper, but rather flung 
quickly with the right forearm and wrist, 
especially the latter, at the rapidly-moving 
ball, with an action which gives a skimming 
effect to the flashing bat as it comes into 
almost imperceptible contact with the leather. 
Anything in the nature of a jar or jolt spoils 
every possibility of making a cut — the whole 
action of foot, arm, and wrist must be the 
sheer poetry of motion in ease and smoothness, 
or, even if the ball is struck at all, no cut can 
result. The left hand has nothing much to 
do with the cutting, except act as a passive 
turning-point around which the stroke is made. 
Last, but by no means least, the eye enters 
into the question. Before it is permissible to 
even decide to cut a ball, the eye must select 
the proper delivery for such treatment, and 
then sight undoubtedly means all the differ- 
ence between success and failure at that 

critical fraction of time when bat meets 
ball. There is no permissible margin of error 
in a cut — the stroke must be just right or it is 
all wrong — and sight is doubtless the deter- 
mining factor. Sight tells in two ways when 
a batsman essays to cut — it gauges the speed 
of the ball as it flashes past and also the lateral 
distance the ball is away from the batsman as 
the bat is on the move. When a batsman 
has the keen vision which makes the cut his 
stroke, and has acquired the physical dex- 
terity which enables him to make proper use 
of his sight, then he soon has command of 
plenty of strokes bowlers could get along very 
nicely without. 

Before quitting the subject of cutting, I 
must mention the cut with the left foot, a 
stroke played at balls undeniably short by 
advancing the left foot, and then making 
the stroke exactly as already described, except 
that there may be more swing and less " flick " 
about it. 

A mere turn of the wrist in forward play will 
often make a bowler quite angry. He does 
not mind having the ball played straight back 
to him, or even so distinctly in front of the 
wicket that mid-on or mid -off can field 
the ball. But when a turn of the wrists at 
the instant the bat comes into contact with 
the leather twists the ball round to leg — the 
stroke up to this point being played forward 
as correctly as any old-style school coach 
could desire, then the bowler feels that he has 
a legitimate grievance. This stroke is not 
very difficult when once the knack is acquired 
of twisting the bat just at the moment when 
the ball is on it. This is entirely a matter of 
judgment, as it is obviously impossible for a 
batsman to hope to twist his wrists after the 
impact of the ball is felt. Really, the stroke 
constitutes a splendid test of the merit of the 
forward play of an individual batsman ; but 
the stroke is very deceptive in appearance, 
because after the strong turn of the wrists 
which marks its departure from a forward 
stroke of the ordinary type it is finished by 
bringing the right shoulder round together 
with the upper part of the body ; and thus 
conveys the impression that some extraordin- 
ary body action precedes contact between bat 
and ball when the leg-glance is utilized. Such 
is not the case, and the batsman who welds the 
truth of the matter into his game is well on the 
way towards mastering a stroke many bowlers 
would almost like to see " barred " by the 

Last, but by no means least, I propose to 
mention the quick-footed drive — that dash 

out utvTOtraFWctt mal ' es a go0d 



length into a half-volley, and makes the 
bowler wonder what he has done to deserve 
such treatment. This stroke is usually 
regarded as purely a punitive effort, as 
something intended to knock the cover half 
off the ball. So it is when it is a drive, but 
if I may be pardoned the apparent contra- 
diction there is a variety of this quick-footed 
drive which is purposely not 
quite so vigorous, and may 
on occasion be nothing but 
an ordinary forward stroke 
played at the end of a 
journey instead of in the 
usual manner. 

The stroke is most useful 
in dealing with that wicked 
ball which pitches just where 
one does not care about 
playing back to it, and 
where a forward stroke 
played in orthodox fashion 
means nothing but a blind 
lunge forward at where you 
hope and trust the ball will 
be when your bat happens 
to get in its way. The 
" half-cock " stroke is a use- 
ful compromise when a bats- 
man is in this predicament, 
but I do not think he need 
be in such an undecided 
frame of mind as to allow 
the ball to hit the bat, if 
he steps out and simply 
plays as good a forward 
stroke as he can without 
indulging in the risk 
inseparable from a strong, hard drive. 

But if, as is so frequently the case, the 
ball a batsman goes out to meet is the one 
he means to smite right lustily, then he must 
never overlook one golden rule, neglect of 
which has lost more wickets than anything 
else incidental to any one stroke. From the 
moment a batsman decides to depart from 
his crease to drive a ball, he must forget 
everything behind him. Any idea of missing 
the ball acts as a species of self-hypnotism, 
which reduces the would-be aggressive 
batsman to ridiculous impotence. 

As regards the method *of running out, 
there is scarcely a point in cricket on which 
individuals differ so greatly. Some batsmen 
seem to shuffle out towards the ball with a 
kind of gliding action, others make a distinct 
run of it, others keep the left foot forward 
all the time and advance by bringing the 
right foot up with a continuous and rapid 



" change step " action, others make one 
step and a big jump, which brings them down 
with both feet together ready for their 
prodigious smite, and some of the most 
powerful, quick-footed drivers the game has 
ever seen have seldom made more than one 
big jump of it before getting to work with 
the bat to good purpose. 

The queer part of it is 
that either of the foregoing 
methods appears to answer 
equally well, so the indivi- 
dual batsman seems quite at 
liberty to choose which ever 
method of progression ap- 
peals to him personally. 
But I should like to suggest 
that the method which 
keeps the eyes as level as 
possible while the batsman 
is on the move is always 
preferable. No matter how 
the batsman may get to the 
pitch of the ball, he must 
arrive well balanced, and 
with his feet so nearly in 
line with the ball that he 
has the essential command 
over the stroke. Then the 
action of the arms and 
wrists does not differ from 
that employed in the ordi- 
nary firm-footed drive. 

In each case the bat 
moves in a perfectly straight 
line. It is lifted straight 
and easily, and swung in 
the same manner, its course 
through the air, viewed sideways, looking 
just for all the world like a diagram of a 
high trajectory turned upside down, and 
flattened considerably soon after its com- 
mencement. In other words, the swing is 
a sharp curve downwards at first, then sweeps 
along at about the same height for some 
distance, and finally rises again into a sharp 
curve as the stroke is completed. The 
longer the bat can be kept in that straightened 
portion of its circular swing — to contradict 
myself in words but not in meaning — the 
greater the certainty of hitting the ball well 
and truly. And as body movement gives 
this peculiar action to the swiftly-moving 
bat, it is easy to see how important it is that 
at the end of his journey the man intent on 
accomplishing a quick-footed drive should be 
well poised. Then he is quite capable of 
hitting the right son of Imll for six — the one 
stroke above all others a bovrier does not like. 



Author of " The Happy Watrivr " and > l Once Aboard tht Luggtr* 

Illustrated by A, Leete. 


HIS is the story of a fight. 
Beauty is in the eye of the 
lit holder; and, similarly l a 
fight is either a dreadful fight 
or a magnificent fight accord- 
ing to the personal view of 
putting a quarrel to the 
arbitrament of seeing which of the parties can 
thump the other's nose the harder or the 
longer. This particular fight may have been 
dreadful or may have been magnificent, It 
certainly was tremendous. It was fought at 
Fair Maid's Cove, which is of red South 
Devon sand, and a mile along the shore from 
Merringlcc ; and it was fought on an August 
afternoon, which w F as the occasion of Miss 
Milly Ten fold's fourteenth birthday, 

Milly gave a picnic to the spot ; and 
announcing it to a cluster of her darling 
friends— describing the plans, the tea-making, 
the special cakes from Point's, the peaches, 
the plums, the games, and the rest of the 
delights — ended with this rare and most 
attractive quality: "And tw boys!" The 

Copyright, 191.1, by 

cluster of her darling friends greeted the 
announcement with rapture. They were of 
the ages at which boys are considered (and 
often are) detestable nuisances ; and that 
darling Milly's picnic should be a girls' picnic, 
unspoilt by rude, rough boys, was acclaimed 
with much clapping of pretty young hands, 
hopping on shapely young legs, and delighted 
unanimity in the large condemnation — 
" Boys are beasts ! " 

Poor girls ! This was a fortnight before 
the picnic. Within a week of the words, of 
the cries of approval, of the clappings and of 
the hoppings, Miss Milly was sharply informed 
that life is not roses, roses all the way— not, 
at least, for girls. Within a week the chiefest 
delight of her picnic w r as brutally shattered. 
Within a week one boy and within ten days 
two boys were plunged into her party — 
plumped by impious fate into the cluster of 
darling friends who alone were to have been 
her guests. 

This Milly Tenfold, it is as well to under- 
stand, wels orphesrwd- orphaned and had her 

A h °^^ Tenfold = 



her father's brother, and his wife. Childless, 
they doted on her — indulged her whims, 
cherished her caprices, idolized her. Her 
frocks — her bangles — her shoes (made to 
measure in London, if you will believe me !) 
— the fittings of the apartment she called her 
own and named her boudoir — why, to dress 
her very hair a man (a man, mind !) came 
over twice a month from Exeter ! 

Imagine, then, the frown that came to the 
face of a Milly thus circumstanced when, 
a week before the picnic, Mrs. Tenfold 
announced that, by this and by that, cousin 
Hugh Falkener must unexpectedly make the 
first week of his holidays — as from Wednesday 
— beneath their roof. 

" Wednesday ! " cried Miss Milly, sighting 
at once the monstrous convention to which 
she must be subjected. " Wednesday ! Why, 
Thursday is my picnic ! " 

Her uncle and her aunt admitted rather 
apologetically that this was so. They had 
need to be more apologetic, more soothing, 
before the scene that followed was ended. 

4< Well, will he have to come ? " Miss Milly 
demanded. " Oh, dear ! He'll spoil it all ! " 

It were only needlessly harrowing to dwell 
on this. Let it at once be said that he did 
come, and that he did spoil it all — with the 
agency of Valentine Saxon England, who 
also came. 

For, " There ! " cried Milly, bursting 
home a few days later. " There ! If you'll 
believe it, there's another boy coming to my 
picnic ! It's very, very hard that I simply 
carit have a girls' picnic when I want one. 
I do think it hard ! First there's Hugh ; 
now Daffy England says she won't come if 
she can't bring her brother. Of course she 
must come — so there's two boys for you ! 
Oh, I do think it's very, very hard on me ! " 
And she added on a sadly-bitter note : " I'd 
better call it a boys' picnic at once. I 
believe there'll be a million boys before it's 
done ! " 

The stress of her emotions must be per- 
mitted to excuse the pretty creature's 
exaggeration. Her uncle and her aunt 
strove to soothe her with tea, with delicious 
cakes (pink-sugared and fresh from Poirre's), 
with hot scones generous in butter — but the 
task was immense. 

i4 It ? s too, too bad of Daffy England ! " — 
" No, I've got cream ! " 

They gave her those hot scones. 

4< She simply lugs her brother everywhere ! " 

They gave her those exquisite cakes fresh 
from Poirre's. 

" He's fat ; you know how fat he is ! " 

There was a box of marrons glacis, and 
they gave her those. 

" When he's playing any game he breathes 
on you like fire ! Oh, I shudder when I 
think how hot he breathed on me in oranges- 
and-lemons at the Andersons' ! " 

And so on, and so on. Her adoring uncle 
and her doting aunt sat dumb before her. 
How solace a pretty creature whose complaint 
against a man is that he breathes ? 

Mr. Bulder — who was making a call — in 
his bovine way and with his high-pitched 
chuckle expostulated : " A man must breathe, 
Miss Milly. It is too much to ask that' if, 
exerting himself lustily, he breathes hotly, he 
shall hold his breath. Such a man would 
certainly burst." And he added, gathering 
the three remaining marrons glacis in his 
plump fingers, " I had rather a man breathe 
flame itself than burst in pieces before my 

Miss Milly crinkled the tender skin of her 
pretty young nose at him ; and for Hugh 
Falkener and Valentine Saxon England she 
had no more cordial greeting than the same 
signal of contempt and disgust when — the 
day of her picnic arrived — these two young 
gentlemen stood glumly aloof on the Tenfold 
lawn and watched the assembly of the party. 
Mr. Bulder did not mind — his mouth being 
comfortably stuffed with the marrons glacis ; 
nor for their part, when their turn arrived, 
did they. 

" Fools ! " grunted Hugh Falkener, 
watching the throng of pretty creatures 
clustering about Miss Milly ; and Valentine 
Saxon England grunted in response. Sullenish, 
stubborn of air, aloof from the crowd and 
despised by it (" Beasts " in the expression of 
Miss Yvonne de Ponthiere, who was Frenchish 
and loose for her years), the two stood 
naturally drawn together, though met now 
for the first occasion, what time the missies 
thronged and kissed in the emotional business 
of meeting. Hugh was thirteen, black-polled 
and swarthy of visage ; Valentine eleven, 
fair of hair and pink and white in the com- 
plexion. Fattish boys — dressed alike in 
flannel shirt and knickerbockers, jacket, 
sailor-knot tie that seemed tight to the point 
of choking, black stockings, shoes of brown 
canvas, straw hat. Ugly fellows beside the 
flummery of gay cottons, twills, nun's- 
veilings, silks, upon which they scowled — of 
sleeky pig-tails, tossing curls, fuzzy mops ; 
of plumpish legs of white and brown ; of 
sashes, of laces, of ribbons ; of gay young 
faces, of chattering mouths, of clicking bangles, 
of paper parcels (birthday presents for darling 




Milly) ; of high young laughs ; of giggles, of 
squeals, of hugs, of kisses — of everything in 
the nature of stir and flashing and squealing 
that may be imagined when some twenty 
darlings are met for a birthday picnic on an 
August afternoon, 

And now the picnickers were ready to start. 
The last present had been unpacked , the last 
guest had arrived, the stout pug pup— Yvonne 
de Ponthiere's gift — had to repletion gorged 
itself with milk, with chocolates, with sweet 
biscuits, and with fingers of sponge-cake. 

" Through the cliff gate ! " cried Miss Milly, 
packing the bulging pup — Bobo the silly 
things had named it — beneath her arm, 
u Through the cliff gate ! You boys may carry 
that hamper ■ it has the kettle and the cups 
and plates* Oh, by the handles, for good- 
ness* sake, not by the rope, and do be careful ! 
Margi, you bring that little box, dear — that's 
fruit. And Effie and Dora — yes, that one ■ 
how nice of you ! Gertie, darling, bring the 
little brown basket, will you ? Oh, I love 
that pencil-box you gave me ! Netty, you've 
got the chocolates— I'll just take one tiny 
one for sweet little Bobo. There ! That's 
everything ! Now ! " 

Now ! It was the most exquisite sight. 
Through the cliff gate they streamed, and 

down, down the steep cliff path in a long, 
brilliantly-hued chain — slipping and tripping, 
and jumping and clutching, and chattering 
and squeaking ; with " Qo-oo-oo's ! " when 
they slipped, and with giggles when they 
clutched ; and with trilling little " Ha-ha- 
ha's ! ?J when others slipped, and with 
feminine little squeaks of " Oh, mercy ! " 
when others clutched. Then the firm red 
sand was reached and, like gay glass beads 
poured higgledy-piggledy from a bottle, with 
squeals and laughs and flappings and flutter- 
ings, they streamed upon it ; with dancing 
and twining and clustering and chattering 
tripped along to Fair Maid's Cove. 

And behind them— dull, drab, morose, 
silent, weighted with an immense hamper- 
laboured the two beasts. The tossing cluster 
of missies was five hundred yards along the 
sand ere, stolid, a trifle warm, they emerged 
from the foot of the cliff. 

"Change hands, shall we ? " says Valentine 
Saxon England — the first words that had 
passed between them. 

They set down the basket. As they crossed 
Valentine took up a stone, ran a step or two, 
and hurled it towards the sea. 

Hugh marked it as it fell— short of the waves 
by half-it-d ^:*n vards. A grunt ish sound he 




have meant a great deal. It took on a clear 
meaning when, stooping for a stone, he hurled 
mightily — to be rewarded by a plop and a 
splash from the sea. 

They had resumed their load and were a 
hundred yards towards the Cove when Valen- 
tine made his comment. 

** I was carrying with my right hand/' he 
said- " You can't chuck so far when your 
arm's fagged." 

"Try again," says Hugh, "My right's 
fagged this time." 

I protest you might have heard the very 
muscles, sinews, and tendons crack when 
Valentine, accepting the challenge, made his 
throw. The boy rushed a dozen yards, his 
hat flew off, his hair streamed — fink I out 
went his arm, his shoulder and his right side 
so convulsively following that he fell to his 
knees and hands- With straining ey r es from 
this position he followed the stone hurtling 
down from a great arc. It splashed a yard 
out, Valentine rose to his feet, " Beat 
that ! " he challenged. 

A knavish way this Hugh had with him. 
Thrice he drew back his arm, thrice extended 
it ^ squinting along it with one eye screwed 
and head cocked sideways. " At decent 
sports ? " said he, u that would have been a 
No- throw — you fell. I'll let you have it, 
though," and he culminated his contortions 
in a mighty shy that sent his stone plump — 
indisputable— six feet beyond where Valen- 
tine's had splashed, 

" I'm pretty good at chucking " said he, 
resuming his basket- " I shall be in our 
House second next summer, I expect. You're 
only at a dame school, aren't you ? " 

" Fm not." 

11 A day boarder at some place here, though, 
aren't you ? s ' 

" Yes— for a bit." 

" It's the same thing," said Hugh. 

Valentine had no answer to give. His 
lower lip fluttered a trifle as they laboured on. 
He tightened it and broke abruptly into a 
very loud whistling. Master Hugh listened 
awhile, then wetted his lips, screwed them up, 
and himself shrilled off in a tune that had a 
defiant note to it. 

" That's our school footer song," he 

" What a rotten one ! " Valentine said. 

Master Hugh eyed him sideways across the 
basket. He was upon the point of a speech 

that began threateningly with " Look here " 

when upon the breeze there came to them 
faint girlish screams- 

" Bo-o-oys ! t! said the screams. " Bo-o-oys ! 
Ma-ake haste ! Do-oo make ha-aste ! " 

The couple shuffled along a little faster at 
the call, and, reaching the girls, were eased 
of their load by the contemptuous method of 
having it impatiently snatched from them. 
" Well, you have been slow ! " was the form 
of Miss" Milly's thanks. "The tablecloth 
and everything's in here, and we've simply 
been waiting" 

" It's jolly heavy, I can tell you " says Hugh, 

" Pooh ! " says Yvonne de Ponthiere, in 

that scornful French ish way of hers. u Pooh ! 

light as a feather ! " and she gave a flick of 

her skirts and a squint from under her curls 

at Hugh. This girl eventually went on the 

stage — the best place for her ; she was always 
f urrgmairrom 






And now the throng of pretty things 
launched themselves upon the delicious 
excitement of preparing tea. At the foot of 
the cliff on the Merringlee side of Fair Maid's 
Cove there is a huge round rock — Football 
Rock , as they call it — and on the shady side 
of this, like a cluster of many-coloured butter- 
flies, this way and that they fluttered in the 
' delightful preparations. 

11 You may do what you like, you two," said 
Miss Milly, addressing the boys. " Do what 
you like till tea is ready. We'll call you." 
With this she turns her back to fiddle with 
Bobo, or spread jam, or something ; and the 
couple, clearly dismissed, drew gloomily away. 

I tell you that for prettiness of picture this 
side of the rock where the missies busied and 
chattered might have been a corner of fairy- 
land. It was a girls 1 paradise where you 
might sit cross-legged, one-legged (sitting on 
one with the other most indelicately stretched), 
or any way you pleased, with no one to make a 
word of reproof ; where you might crawl all 
over the tablecloth, tossing your hair where 
it trickled over your eyes and into the dish you 
sought to place ; where you might nip up a 
chocolate or lick your thumb when unfortu- 
nately it had crushed into a squashy cake, 
and no one to say " Oh, fie ! " Miss Milly, 

cross-legged, napkin on lap, knees sticking 
east and west, splashed cream and jam on to 
the slices she hacked from a fine new loaf ; 
Miss Gertie, lying fiat, halved buns and 
jammed them nobly with a spoon ; Miss 
Yvonne piled the greengages ; Miss Daffy 
slashed the cake ; Miss Effie alternately placed 
an eclair and licked her pretty thumbs ; Miss 
— well, when the kettle over the spirit-lamp 
was beginning to hiss, anybody's mouth would 
have watered at that exquisite array of creams 
and jams and cakes, of fruits and chocolates 
and pastries, that jostled one another all 
round the splendid pinnacle of pink icing that 
had u Milly " in silver letters on its crown, 
and that towered bravely on the centre of the 

The thing had reached this point ; the 
packet of missies were drawing back with little 
li Ah's 7 ' of pleasure and little sniffs of antici- 
pations when suddenly — 

"Oh, dear! What ever's that? " Miss Milly 

Poor things ! Their pretty lips, that had so 
gaily chattered, now slightly parted in the 
faint tremble of apprehension ; their sparkling 
eyes that had so brightly danced, now r fixed in 
the clouded stare of doubt ; their bangles that 
had so mu^f.iilv jin^kd, nowiaintly trembled 





Poor things ! You could almost see them 
shaking as, listening, the confused sounds that 
had given Miss Milly alarm separated into 
intelligible and dreadful notes. There was a 
monstrous shuffling sound. From the other 
side of the Football Rock there was a mon- 
strous shuffling sound — a laboured breathing 
sound ; a gasping sound ; at intervals a dull 
and hideous thudding sound. Rooted in 
speechless terror the pretty creatures sat — 
and still the shuffling, still the laboured 
breathing, still the gasping, still the thuds, 
From where Miss Milly crouched she could see 
farthest round the rock. Suddenly with a cry 
she sprang to her feet, " It's those boys /" 
she cried. u It*s those dreadful, dreadful boys!" 

A dreadful human mass that came stagger- 
ing, jolting, bumping into view, gave the 
picture to her words on the moment. Round 
the corner of the rock and into the open it 
came, tearing up the firm sand as it laboured 
forward, spurning up the firm sand in great 
holes and gashes as in one spot it writhed* 
Locked , as it seemed „ in a mesh of arms, and 
yet with a whirling, banging arm crashing 
stupendous blows on itself ; twined, as it 
seemed, in a mesh of legs, and yet with a 
whirling, banging leg flying savagely he neat h 
it — Hugh Falkener and Valentine Saxon 
England, in the form of one two-headedj many- 

Vol xlvi-43. 

limbed monster, furiously convulsed, came 
plunging into the sunlight. 

Those girls screamed* The hideous appar- 
ition whose fearful convulsions seemingly 
could only end in some appalling explosion 
touched them with noisy terror, and in unison 
they screamed. From every frightened miss 
a scream, and from every jumping heart a 
different scream. One screamed M Stop ! " 
another screamed " Don't ! " " Oh T boys . 
Oh ? boys ! " one screamed, and " Heil kill 
him ! ,J another. 

The mass writhed on. 

Those girls jumped to their feet. In a 
panic of distress, in an ecstasy of fear, they 
streamed pell-mell from their pretty feast to 
rush, and group, and shudder together — some 
holding hands, some clasping hands in agony 
— a yard or so from the agitated monster; 

The mass writhed on. 

Those girls by now were clustered in a 
trembling group from which cries came, that 
shed tears from some of its eyes, that trampled 
back upon itself with alarmed squeals when 
the writhing mass plunged towards it, that 
trembled forward again when the writhing 
mass plunged back, ** Oh, don't, don't, 
don't, boys ! " Miss Milly cried. "Stop 
them, someone' 1 '! '3 ,r ?% do stop them ! Oh, 
dear ! QMtvIIHHdf 4SM£ MlfiAH be I " 



That mass writhed on. 
" Oh, boys ! Oh, please, boys ! " came from 
Miss Effie. And then in a scream : " Oh, 
oo — oo ! Look it his face /" 

From under an arm of the writhing mass 
a most dreadful face seemed to be slowly 
squeezed out. Through it came, convulsed in 
agony. It was the face of Valentine Saxon 
England, pressing away in acutest torture 
from the dragging claw that was buried in his 

" JFIis face ! His poor face ! " the terrified 
cluster took up. And " Beast, Hugh ! Beast, 
beast ! " that Frenchishly loose De Ponthiere 

"I must stop them! I must!" Gertie 
Tollemache said. She took a step out from 
the trembling group, and laid a gentle hand 
on one of the tossing shoulders of the mass. 

" Boys " she began. One of the creature's 

great tossing arms came whirling out and set 
such a thump upon her chest as might have 
been heard at Merringlee. " Umph ! " gasped 
Miss Tollemache, and went reeling back to the 
sympathetic hands that stretched to catch 
The mass writhed on. 

It split suddenly as by some mighty up- 
heaval, and the half of it that was Valentine 
Saxon England came whirling backwards 
into the screaming cluster. The tender 
forms against which he crashed prevented 
him falling. Taking impetus from their 
support, with a most horrible howl he 
bounded forward and plumped a great 
whirling fist wallop on Hugh Falkener's nose. 
Ah, then those girls screamed ! " Flat ! 
Flat ! He's knocked his nose flat ! " cried 
the De Ponthiere, and, as a very cataract of 
blood came swirling out of the flatness, in a 
semi-swoon of Frenchish vapours, collapsed 
upon the sand. 

The mass was locked again now — roaring 
horribly as to Hugh, whose flat n9se gave 
new and dreadful pain and blood to the 
writhing monster. A new fury seemed to 
possess it. Where before it had kept almost 
stationary, now most alarmingly it surged 
this way and that, down the beach, up the 
beach — swiftly up the beach. 

Miss Milly was the first to sight the impend- 
ing calamity that lay in this direction. " Oh, 
mind ! Oh, mind ! " she cried, and in dread- 
ful agitation hoj:ped around the plunging 
mass, screaming : " The tea-things ! Oh, 
mind the tea-things ! " 

At the word even those devoted creatures 
who clustered about the swooning De Pon- 
thiere could not forbear to look up from her 

prostrate form to take up the cry. " The 
tea-things ! The tea-things ! Oh, boys, do 
mind the tea-things ! " 

It was the most impracticably womanish 
behest. That plunging mass would not have 
stayed if the very Pit itself had gaped where 
the fair cloth was spread. One swishing leg 
caught it first. Like a great thunder-bolt 
it plunged through the ordered array of pretty 
tea-cups. A jug of milk cataracted in a white 
billow that washed the eclairs adrift. Shreds 
of flying china, rolling lumps of sugar, scattered 
as far as where the swooning De Ponthiere lay. 
And now all the mass's legs in wild confusion 
churned up the cakes, the creams, the jams, 
the fruits into a whirling mixture, that flew, 
that squashed, that pulped knee-high upon 
its twisting stockings. 

One foot, poised for a moment as the mass 
spun round in a yet wilder spasm, crashed 
firmly into the pink-sugared pinnacle that 
had " Milly " in silver icing on its crown. 
" My cake ! Oh, my cake ! " poor Milly 
cried, and " Oh, your cake ! " the cluster 

The suspended cake waggled violently in 
mid-air. It flashed round in a violent half- 
circle that whirled a great chunk of it high on 
Miss Milly's dress. Then it accomplished 
the collapse of the writhing mass. " Dash 
my foot ! " a thick, tear-sodden voice sobbed 
from the middle of the plunging forms. 
" Dash my foot ! " and the cake yet more 
furiously waggled. Then a companion foot 
flung up towards the cake, the mass spun, 
staggered, crashed to the cloth, wallowed in 
a very morass of cream and jam and pastries, 
then split in halves. Master Valentine Saxon 
England raised hiipself to his knees, plumped 
two tremendous wallops on the face that lay 
plastered in squashy food, said " There ! " 
and " There ! " with each blow, then, leaving 
a moaning form encrusted with food behind 
him, trod squarely out across the cloth 
towards the girls. 

They broke and fled before his fearful 
aspect, his heaving chest, his sobbing breaths. 
" I'm going home ! " he bawled at them, 
and twisted on his heel towards Merringlee. 

Those poor girls took courage then, and, 
able now to realize their share of the disaster, 
took fury. 

" You'd better ! " they screamed. " You'd 
better ! You'll get thrashed, I hope ! You 
wicked boy ! You ought to go to prison ! " 
And the De Ponthiere, raising herself on one 
slender arm, cried : " Beast ! Beast ! " after 
the retreating figure that went stumping 
doc^edly over the sands. 







That Is the end of the fight ; but in reading 
of great ring battles as good as any other part 
is to see how the combatants bore themselves 
afterwards in their dressing-rooms, Hugh 
Falkener, then, attracting now the womanish 
compassion of all save one of these poor 
picnic-defrauded girls, was by all save one 
tenderly ministered to as, wailing aloud, he 
lay in the clot of creams and cakes. With 
spoons, with forks, with shells, the forgiving 
creatures clustered about him picking off the 
jam, the pastries, the chocolates, and the 
peaches that festooned his person* With 
pretty sighs they gave their sympathy, with 
pretty moans bade him, in their impracticable, 
girlish way, tell where he was hurt — poor 
wretch, he was bruised and torn from his flat 
nose to where the snuffling De Ponthiere 
picked cake off his left foot. 

One only stood aloof, and this was that 
Daffy England who, as Milly had said, always 
insisted upon lugging her brother everywhere 
with her, had lugged him to this, and now 
stood watching him as he stumped away in 

Digitized by Google 

the distance, and presently fled swiftly after 
and overtook him, 

u Oh, Val ! n she cried. H Oh, Val ! '■ 

Valentine Saxon England caught up his 
laboured breathing with an immense sniff. 

" Oh ? don't go on about it, Daffy ! " 

" I'm not— I'm not ! Oh, Val, you're 
frightfully hurt ! " 

" Oh, don't make a fuss about it. Daffy," 
he pleaded. 

They plodded along, 

11 You oughtn't to have clutched like that, 
though, dear/' Daffy said, presently, Li At 
public schools — in * Tom Brown/ behind 
the chapel, you remember — they only 

"Oh, I know that, Daffy. It's all very 
well to talk. I had to fight any way I could. 
He called me a private-school baby. Im not. 
And I licked him, didn't I ? I licked him in 
the end/' 

* ( You did. You did splendidly, darling ! w 

The splendid man conveyed to his mouth 
a piece of eclair that stuck to his coat, and 
they went proudly hand in hand. 


Spider ontHe 


Author of l * Some Nature Biographies" "Peeps Into Natures Ways" " Life Histories oj Familiar 

Plants" etc* 

Illustrated with Original Pkoto grafts by the Author. 

The photographs illustrating thai short Nature study form a unique set of pictures, being the first that have 
ever been secured depicting the consecutive movements of this curious and interesting little spider when out 

hunting its prey. 


brick wall 

may not, on 

first con- 


seem a very 

prof i table 
field for Natural History 
investigation, yet the reader 
whose choicest garden 
possession happens to be 
of that unfortunate order, 
need not, by any means, despair. Given 
a sunny aspect with a brick or stone 
wall , a wooden fence , a garden seat, or, 
less frequently, an ordinary window-frame, 
together with a fair amount of patience, 
the chances of witnessing a bold and fearless 
hunter stalking its prey with all the skill of 
the wild ^ at once become exceedingly 

Our hunter is a pretty little spider with 
brown and white zebra-like markings, and, 
in consequence, it is commonly known as 
the Zebra Spider. It is familiar almost 
everywhere in the British Isles from April 
until October or November, when it hiber- 
nates for the winter, appearing again in the 
spring with the advent of the flies on which 
it preys. 

Let us select a suitable wall facing full 
south and endeavour to observe the odd 
manoeuvres of this clever little animal while 
out on a hunting expedition. At first the 
eye will require a little practice in detecting 
the spider, but after it has once been recog- 
nized, it becomes comparatively easy to 

Fig, L — The Jumping Spider ai il appear* in 
the twilight on a buck wnll — aalural lize. 

observe, and numerous 
examples will be found by 
carefully scanning suitable 
sites for them, 

Although a common brick 
wall is the most favoured 
situation, I would advise 
the amateur observer to 
give particular attention to 
dark - painted or tarred 
fences, for on these the little 
spider stands out conspicu- 
ously in the sunlight. On a brick wall it so 
much resembles its surroundings that it is far 
more difficult to observe ; which feature may 
account for its particular favour for such 
situations, being there protected from the 
eyes of its natural enemies and also those of 
its prey. 

In Fig. i the spider is shown at natural 
size travelling down the surface of a wall, 
for the comparatively large female there 
shown is only about one-quarter of an inch 
in lengthy th$ males being smaller. If, 
how ever j we view it by means of a reading- 
glass we can observe its movements much 
more readily, and it then appears as shown 
in Fig. 2. 

Its quick, jerking movements are, in them- 
selves j very amusing as it runs about the 
surface on which it is moving, its black 
shadow accompanying them. It is exceed- 
ingly bold, and allows one to examine it at 
quite close quarters without showing any 
alarm. If a finger, or a grass-blade, is placed 
on the brid&^«i*l^1it instantly turns towards 
it afcifl |'igiftfet"?l|ly"l fcftttd£l |4ijt N to investigate 



things. On a slight movement of the object 
in its direction, it may surprise the observ-er 
by running backwards or sideways with just 
the same facility that it travels forward. 
Should, however, a too sudden movement 
startle it, it may astonish the experimenter 
by instantly vanishing from sight, just as if 
the brick had absorbed it. 

It has come from a hole between the 
mortar at the top of the wall, 
just beneath the coping - 
stone , where j if the time is 
during the early months of 
the year, it may have an egg 
cocoon. Quickly it runs over 
the wall, then suddenly halts 
— one might think that it 
had heard something and 
was listening. Then away 
it goes at the same rapid 
pace, again halting just for 
an instant, and the next 
moment it U travelling in 
quite another direction ; its 
course being continually 
changed as if it had a doubt 
which way it should travel. 

There is no doubt in the 
mind of the little creature ; its 
mission is of a very decided 
character ; its object in being 
abroad in the bright sunlight 
is that of dinner. Its rapid 
turning movements are 
largely guided by every tiny 
fly which , in the course of its flight, nears 
the surface of the wall, and if one should 
alight to warm and sun itself on the bricks 
(which arc so hot that they burn one's 
hand to touch), it is almost certain that that 
will be the last alighting-place of that luckless 

The little creature is provided on the 
front of its head with a set of four powerful 
eyes, the central pair of which, when seen 
under a magnifying lens, reminds one of huge 
motor-lamps, while still another set of four, 
two fairly large and two small, are placed on 
the summit of its head, When it- suddenly 
changes its position it is to direct this buttery 
(if eyes to a new source the slightest shadow 
or movement in almost any direction being 
instantly detected by them. 

To see the spider make a capture generally 
needs much patience, and if encouragement 
in that direction is required, one need not go 
farther afield than the spider itself, for its 
patience is often astonishing. I have per- 
sonally seen one wander over a hot wall in 

Fla. 2 .— Ttic Jumping Spider tbown in 
Fitf. I Aft it appear i when viewed 
through a fcadifiM-BlMt — Jf i* ihown out 
on a. hunti nit far ay, juit when it hat 
detected a fly on the brick immediate Jy 
Le law thai uji which it it moving 

full sunlight for nearly two hours wituout 
effecting a capture. If our luck is favourable, 
of course, we may see a capture almost 
immediately. One word of warning, however, 
is needed to the over-enthusiastic observer, 
namely, that his presence too close to the 
spider may be the source of his own waiting 
and the spider not obtaining a meal, for space 
for the flies to approach must be allowed. 

These points duly attended 
to, our spider is seen to give 
an extra sudden swing round, 
almost at the very instant a 
fly has alighted on the lower 
half of the brick immediately 
below ; indeed, the spider 
had detected it even before 
it alighted. It is at least four 
inches away, and between it 
is a wide span of mortar bear- 
ing a small forest of moss 
growing amongst it F and 
separating the bricks. The 
spider has become deadly 
still, likewise the fly. Then 
the fly, quite unconscious of 
its danger, moves its head 
slightly to the right, a move- 
ment instant lv followed bv 
one to the left on the part of 
the spider, ami both are still 
again, But only for a moment, 
for it immediately becomes 
obvious that the spider is 
moving p moving, too, by 
extraordinary and minute contortions of its 
body, while crouching low; nevertheless, it is 
slowly approaching the edge of the moss 
forest in the mortar, but there is still 
approximately three inches separating the 
prey from its hunter. 

At the same instant that we realize that 
there is yet more space for the little spider to 
cover, we also realize that that space has been 
completely annihilated— has entirely teased 
to be. The spider is grappling with the 
surprised fly, which is struggling with all its 
strength to escape (Fig. 3)* Indeed, the 
stealthy hunter had accurately gauged the 
distance, and in the fraction of a second, 
with a tiger-like spring had hurled itself over 
the moss forest and some two inches of the 
brick on to the back of the fly* Its instan- 
taneous movement was much too quick for 
our eyes to follow, but there was no doubt as 
to how it got there. It had accomplished u 
Jong jump of twelve times its own length, or 
what, if.Hpr.hjrmed. at t{ie .same proportion by 

a man 

Id represent 







. _'*i**v~ 

Fig. 3- — In a fraction of ■ accond, wilh a 
tiger-hlte spring and! certain aim, it hill 
pciuni-r-fj cm la \\s quarry, clearing m ill jump 

a diitance af a lit lit over three inchrt. 

Fist, 4, The fly completely taken l«y 
lurpriie, violently ilruggles to eacape* and, 
inr a moment the battle wag** fierce, Itl 
struggle* are briefly terminated, for in limb* 

arr f rom filly rnlanfclrci in a Illk^n line, and 

the spider'* | okion-langi are then inttantly 


Fie 5,— The tpidcr leaving tht haplcai 
Bit, its appetite appealed. 

a distance of twenty-four yards, and that on 
a. perpendicular surface ! 

For a moment the st niggle is a desperate 
one indeed (Fig* 4), and the spider has more 
than enough to do to get its victim under 
control ; for, although its capture is but a 
diminutive insect of the house-fly group, yet 
it is quite a large venture for this little spider 
(which more often attacks small gnats and 
midges), and one which well illustrates its 
boldness and daring as a fearless hunter. 

The struggle, however, is brief , for the 
limbs of the fly have become entangled 
with a silken cord rapidly and dexterously 
twisted about them by the spider during 
the attack. Also the fly almost immedi- 
ately ceases to struggle when entangled, for 
the spider's deadly poison- 
fangs are then promptly- 

Some times , when making 
an attack on such large prey T 
the hunter's tactics do not 
prove so successful, An un- 
timely movement of the fly 
may cause the spider to alight 
upon it with an unsteady foot- 
hold. Then fly and spider 
may fall headlong down the 
wall — but only for a yard or 
thereabouts. Before making 
its spring the hunter care- 
full v attaches a silken cable Fig. 6— When Mt, 
to the spot, and its weight, S^Jd'h^t: 

together with that of the fly, may draw 
more of this cable from the spider's silk- 
gland, but should the wall be touched 
during the fall, and the spider gain another 
holdj the capture may even then be success- 
fully effected, although it may be a yard 
from the spot where the prey was pounced 
upon. The cable, too, also saves its owner 
from a fall should its aim entirely miss the 
prey. Furthermore, it is also an effective 
means by which it can suddenly vanish from 
the eyes of its foes — a point to which I have 
previously referred— for, if alarmed, it has 
but to perform one of its rapid leaps from 
its point of attachment and let out its 
cable, and an instant later it is several 
feet lower down the wall. 

In Fig. 5 the spider is seen 
leaving its victim , for the meal 
was more than enough. It is 
seen that it is now attached 
to the wall (Fig. 6), but 
whether it wa^ so fixed for a 
further visit should fresh prey 
prove scarce, or whether the 
attaching lines were simply 
those used in the initial cap- 
ture, is a difficult point to 
decide. It is even capable of 
performing the hunting 
manoeuvres here described 
on the smooth glass of an 
hnwevei, it i% h'mh ordiv?arv window, as the 









OBILITY of character!" 

echoed Paul Osmond, sur- 
prised into interrupting the 
smooth , mechanical flow of 
words which the phrenolo- 
gist was rendering in return 
for Osmond's half-crown. 
The elderly charlatan did not answer the 
ejaculation directly — instead, he repeated in 
his glib, effortless drone the words which 
seemed to have astonished his client. 

" You possess courage, talent, and great 
nobility of character, You are often mis- 
understood, even by those whose opinion you 
value most, but sometimes you are able to 
make them admit that you were right. You 
are generous and will succeed in life. You are 
a clever organizer. You do not lack applica- 
tion, and are inclined to think more of others 
than of yourself. You are capable of great 
self-sacrifice when it is necessary. This is 
due to the nobility of your character. You 
have a great love of home life, and you are of 
an affectionate nature." 

Osmond glowed as he listened attentively 
to the well-worn phrases of the adept who was 
thumbing his head. It was all so true — in 
his heart Osmond knew it was true ! But 
for all that it had surprised him to come 
casually into this mysterious little beeurtained 
den and have his most private beliefs and 
thoughts confirmed instantly by a man who 
had never seen him before, would never see 
him again, and, having received his fee in 
advance, could have no possible reason for 
telling him anything but the truth ! 

He was glad, tremendously glad, to know 
for certain now that he was such a decent sort 
of chap. It was fine to think that his wife 
had the right kind of husband after alb and 

splendid to know that four-year-old Doreen 
had the right sort of father, Somehow, too, 
he was conscious of a certain relief — just as 
he had felt when, some years before, he had 
completed the taking out of his three-hundred- 
pound life insurance policy. Then he had 
felt he had mounted another rung in the 
ladder of life — had achieved something 
definite and very useful. Queerly enough, the 
words of the phrenologist affected him with 
the same feeling* It gave him confidence — 
just as the policy had done. 

He became aware that the man was asking 
him a question — was urging something upon 

_*' Such a head as yours deserves a chart — 
that would be another half-crown, I should 
recommend a chart, Host of my clients to 
whom I am able to give good readings like to 
have a chart. It is very interesting to look 
back upon of an evening — to show your 
children. It makes a nice souvenir— it 
would be another half-crown. Shall I prepare 
a chart ? " 

Osmond paid the half-crown, waited while 
the adept retired and hastily scrawled a few 
abrupt flatteries upon a " chart/' and then, 
unusually buoyant, went out, more than 
satisfied with his five shillingsworth. 

He made his way into Oxford Street, 
where at seven o'clock he was to meet his 
wife, planning things, great things that would 
lead him on and on to that ultimate " success " 
of which the phrenologist had spoken with 
such easy assurance* He felt better than he 
had felt for months — it was wonderful, he 
thought, how a little encouragement refreshed 
a man and stiffened him up. It was fine — 
fine. He was a lucky man. The facts of his 
life corroborated everything the phrenologist 

had University of Michigan 



He was earning three hundred a year as 
manager to a rapidly-growing firm of paper 
merchants in the City, with every prospect of 
a " rise " ; he had a wife he loved, a child he 
adored, and a home that was the most com- 
fortable his imagination could compass ; he 
had a life policy for three hundred pounds, he 
had great nobility of character, and, finally, 
he was going to be a success. 

Paul Osmond was neither stupid nor 
inexperienced — but, like most men, he was 
prone to believe anyone who told him a 
pleasant thing about himself. That was all. 
For the rest, he was a quiet, conscientious, 
hard-working, average sort of Londoner, who 
did not look outside the radius of his business 
for profit and rarely beyond the horizon of his 
own home for pleasure. 

His wife was awaiting him outside one of 
the big women's shops near Oxford Circus. 
She carried two parcels, which she handed to 
him, smiling. 

" Always punctual, Paul. Do let's have a 
taxi to the doctor's," she said. She was 
pretty and rather more modish than one 
would have expected Osmond's wife to be. 

" Tired ? " he asked. 

She nodded/ 

" Yes. It took me ages to find what I 
wanted — and there was a crowd. I hate 
sales — and like them, too." She laughed a 

He signalled to a taxi-cab. 

" Poor old lady. Have you got what you 
wanted, after all ? " 

" Yes. Only the hat was dearer than I 
expected. Sometimes these sales are not 
worth going to. I've spent every penny." 

She glanced at him, half-furtively. Osmond 
looked out of the window. She had spent 
more than she promised — one-third of a 
week's salary more. It was a fault of hers — 
to spend rather more than they could afford. 

But to-day he was feeling too buoyant to 
make even the most moderate protest. Once 
or twice her extravagance had worried him, 
but now, for this time, at any rate, he would 
say nothing. Of course, that two pounds 
would have been useful, but it was not ruin. 

" Did you come straight from the office, 
Paul ? " asked Isabel, leaning back restfully. 

"No; I had an hour," he said, and told 
her of the phrenologist and the chart. She 
looked pleased and squeezed his arm. 

" Dear old daddy. They are awfully 
clever, those phrenologists. We'll read the 
chart to-night." 

The taxi-cab stopped outside the door of 
a house in a quiet turning off Baker Street. 

A brass plate on the door bore the name of 
Dr. Warr. 

Osmond hesitated for a moment. 

" It's a waste of money. I've a good mind 
not to go in at all. I never felt fitter in my 

" Oh, but you've got the appointment. 
You ought to. You may feel queer again 
to-morrow." Her voice was tired. " You 
won't be long, Paul. I will go over to that 
teashop and have some tea, and you can call 
for me there." 

" Very well, dear. I'll try not to be long," 
said Osmond, and stood watching her across 
the street. She knew he would. At the door 
of the teashop she turned and waved her 
hand. He was proud of her. She knew that, 
too. Then he rang the doctor's bell. 

It was nothing much. Recently he had 
suffered intermittently from a pain in the 
region of the heart, a little dizziness, and 
slight insomnia. He did not attach any 
importance to it, but he was a methodical 
man, and was very keenly aware of the import- 
ance of his health. There were Isabel and 
Doreen to be provided for, and as yet only that 
three-hundred-pound policy between them 
and want in the event of " anything happen- 
ing " to him. It was simple common sense 
that had brought him to. the doctor to-day, 
not nervousness. 

He was perfectly at ease while Warr — 
an enormously tall, stooping, haggard, jerky 
man of middle age — ran over him, almost in 
silence. It was not till he noticed a strange, 
unexpected tremor of the doctor's big, well- 
shaped hand that he suddenly felt nervous. 
But Osmond said nothing ; he was of the quiet 
type. At last the doctor finished his examina- 
tion — it had seemed very long — and signed to 
him to dress. 

He dressed quickly, silently. The doctor 
walked to the window, looking out thought- 
fully, without speaking. And then quite 
suddenly Paul Osmond felt himself blanch. 
It came with a sort of physical shock, as though 
some live, fierce beast had sprung on him 
from behind. He made a violent mental 
effort to steady himself ; in a mirror over 
the mantel he saw that his face was dead 
white. He heard his heart beating. Why, 
it was pounding, racing. 

" Doctor," said Osmond, with a queer note 
of appeal in his voice. 

The doctor turned jerkily from the window. 
His hands still twitched with that odd tremor. 

Then he spoke. 

"Are yoCrbtfir'ndependent means?" he 







Original from 



Osmond shook his head, rather weakly. 
" Are you married ? " The doctor's voice 
was very kind. 

" Yes, and I have a little girl" 
Then the doctor told him. 

It seemed that he had a year or eighteen 
months — perhaps even two years, but cer- 
tainly not more— to live. 

Osmond listened, heard, understood. He 
was conscious of a curious feeling of sick 
dullness, a nauseating inertia of the mind. 
He stared at the doctor, feeling rather stupid. 
He did not know that his eyes were exactly 
those of a quiet, rather timid dog, begging. 
Then the fogs and shadows in his brain 
seemed to clear slowly, leaving him lucid and 
very much afraid. 

He decided to say nothing for a few 
moments — nothing at all. He did not wish 
to make himself look ridiculous. He con- 
tinued to stare at the doctor. 

" I'm sorry. Drink this." 

He drank that which the doctor gave him. 
He never knew what it was he drank ; it 
seemed quite tasteless. There was a bite to 
it, he remembered afterwards — a sensation of 
heat in the throat. Probably it was brandy. 

It helped him, whatever it was, and he 

" This is a terrible thing for me, doctor," 
he said, slowly. " I have a wife and little 
girl dependent on me." He paused, wonder- 
ing what they would say. " I shall have to 
do something. I live carefully, but I can 
live more carefully. That, and treatment, 
will help. Strict attention to doctor's orders 
— no deceiving myself, but obeying orders. 

Serious treatment — common sense " He 

faltered a little. " Heaven help me, doctor. 
I mustn't die for years. Look ! " He 
snatched out the miniature of his baby Doreen 
to show the doctor, hesitated, steadied him- 
self, put back the miniature, and said no 

" I could sell you drugs, my friend," said 
the doctor, tonelessly. " But you have a 
better use for your money. Keep it for them 
— drugs can't give you a new heart. Now, 
listen to me." 

Osmond listened hungrily to the things 
the medical man told him. Some were useful 
things to know, some even consolatory, but 
there were none that were hopeful. Once it 
seemed to Osmond almost as though the 
medical man was rambling aimlessly, repeat- 
ing himself. 

At the end of it Osmond found himself 
with his whole mind pinned to one phrase. 

41 Everything in these cases depends on 
a man's character. No man can do more 
than his best. But his best is a question of 
character." The context no doubt was apt, 
but Osmond troubled only to remember that. 
He clung to it. 

For he had " great nobility of character " 
— the phrenologist had said it, he knew f it 
himself. Well — now he must draw deep 
upon that nobility. 

He pondered, his face clearing. How that 
simplified things ! He drew a deep breath. 

He had to die — he knew it. Very good. 
He would die fighting — for Isabel and Doreen. 
Come what may they must be left provided 
for. That was to be his fight — two thousand 
pounds at three per cent. — sixty pounds a 
year — not enough. Three thousand was the 

That was it — three thousand would do it 
— more if possible, but certainly not less. 

He had to get that — three thousand pounds 
in eighteen months. 

Well — he w r ould do it, by hook or by crook. 
Somehow. He was thinking quickly, wonder- 
fully, amazingly. He saw at once that to 
work out his brief destiny nobly he must do 
it alone, in silence. They must not know. 
They were happy now — to destroy their 
happiness at one blow by telling them his fate 
was too great a price to pay for their sympathy. 
They loved him now — they could love him 
no more even if they were told the ill news. 
Very well, then. Afterwards — afterwards — 
when all was well with them, save only that 
he would not be there — he would like them to 
know of the fight he had made — was going to 
make for them. That was natural, and if a 
man, whose body is lying still and tranquil in 
his grave, can know anything at all, it would 
be sweet to know that they loved him, 
cherished his memory, because of the way in 
which he had faced the inevitable, for them. 

He stood up, bright-eyed — a new man. 

" I've puzzled it out," he said, a ring in his 
voice, thanked the doctor, paid him, and went 

The doctor stared at the door — slipping a 
little white tablet into his mouth as he stared. 

Then slowly, heavily, he sat down with an 
extraordinary air of collapse. 

There was still that odd tremor about his 

Osmond took a turn up and down t^f street, 
thinking desperately, before h*> rejoined his 
wife. But it was hardly necessary— his 
colours were nailed to the mast before ever 
he left the doctor. He was even able to 




vision them — streaming, for all the world to 
see, almost flamboyant, a flowing banner 
embroidered with the words " Nobility of 
Character." It was with a wonderful sense 
of exhilaration that he mentally surveyed 
his " flag." It would be hard, almost unen- 
durably hard, to do his fighting in silence — 
for inevitably Isabel and all the others would 
misunderstand, until understanding would 
arrive too late to make it easy — but that was 
his destiny — to traverse the hard way. 

(That would have been an amazed phre- 
nologist had he known how the few curt, 
unconsidered stock flatteries he had marketed 
for small silver had inspired his latest 

Paul Osmond stepped into the teashop with 
his head up, chin out, a faint flush on his 
cheeks, bright-eyed, and calm. 

He had changed subtly already — he would 
always look an ordinary, average, unarresting 
person — but one with self-respect. 

Isabel looked at him with tired eyes, 

11 I can see that you are all right," she 
said, confidently. " What did he say ? " 

" Right as rain — just got to be careful 
about drinks and smokes — simple diet," 
replied Osmond. " I knew that — it was 
money wasted." 

Isabel nodded. 

" All the same I'm glad you went," she 
declared, complacently. " Now I don't care if 
I did spend more than I wanted to, as long 
as you're all right. Will you have some tea ? 
No — not that, it's cold. I'll order a fresh pot." 

" Oh, this will do." He poured himself a 
cup from her teapot. As she had said, it was 
cold, but it was threepence saved. Three- 
pence for Doreen and his wife. That was the 
start. Good. 

Outside the door of the teashop a taxi-cab 
slid by. The driver looked at them — a 
human note of interrogation. 

" Oh, Paul — let's have a taxi to the 
station ! " 

Something shook him suddenly. He felt 
like a ship which, leaving the smoothness of a 
harbour, encounters its first buffet from the 
open water. The threepence had been self- 
denial — easy. This taxi fare was denial to 
his wife. And she was tired. 

He shook his head, flushing. 

" Better walk to Oxford Circus, old lady. 
No use throwing money away, eh ? " 

The taxi rolled on out of hail. Isabel's face 
took on a slight, very slight, bleakness. 

" Oh, all right," she said. She inflected a 
faint increase of weariness into her voic 


Osmond took her arm. 

" The doctor said I ought to walk as much 
as possible for the sake of the extra exercise." 

She nodded. 

" All right, Paul. I was just a little tired, 
that's all." 

So they went home to Doreen. 

Osmond had not realized quite how hard 
it was going to be until the child greeted him, 
climbing on his knee for the ten minutes or so 
before the evening meal that was sacredly his. 

As he commenced, so he continued. He 
did not smoke that evening, nor enjoy his 
customary glass or so of whisky, and he 
found a queer pleasure in totting the items 
together as he saved each — thus, tea three- 
pence, taxi two shillings, evening paper half- 
penny, two whiskies, say sixpence, tobacco, 
three or four pipes, say threehalfpence, 
total two and elevenpence. It was extra- 
ordinary how these things mounted up, 
small sums one usually spent without thinking. 

Nevertheless, he was too much a business 
man not to realize that it was to the big items 
he must look for big saving — Isabel's clothes, 
rent, household expenses, and so on. It 
was significant that instinctively he put his 
wife's clothes first as being the heaviest 

It was that which made it clear to him 
that he must enlist Isabel's co-operation in 
economy if he was going to effect anything 

He had his pla